


I Bring My Better Angels To Every Fight (The Man in the Mirror Remix)

by lls_mutant



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lls_mutant/pseuds/lls_mutant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burt wanted to change the world for Kurt.  He didn't realize that, by changing himself, he already had.  Those years of struggling that it took Burt to figure things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stuck In Colder Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Some Things I Cannot Change](https://archiveofourown.org/works/181469) by [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust). 



The doorbell rang and Kurt ran for it, his shoes thunking on the linoleum. Burt scooped him up as he reached up for the doorknob and opened the door.

"There he is!" Burt's mother cried. "There's my Kurt!" And the child was immediately pulled from Burt's arms. "Merry Christmas, little man!"

"Hello to you, too, Mom," Burt said cheerfully, closing the door behind his parents.

"Oh, I see you any old time," his mother said, still kissing Kurt on the cheek. She disappeared deeper into the house, carrying Kurt with her.

"I swear, you'd think he was her first grandchild, not her fifth," his father said. "How you doing?"

"Not bad." Burt shook hands with his father. "Come on in."

It wasn't long before his parents were settled, watching Kurt make his attempts to get at the ornaments on the tree. Katherine sat on the floor, hugging her knees except when Kurt came to her, falling on her and begging to be swept up for tickles and hugs. Burt sat on the couch, watching his wife and son with pride and contentment.

"He's still awfully small for a two-year-old," his mother said critically. "When Millie's oldest was this age, he was wearing the 3T sizes."

"Yes, but Mildred's husband is a giant," Katherine retorted. "The doctor says he's always been small, though, and he's on the same percentile that he's been on. He's fine."

"Is it because he was so early?" Burt's dad pressed.

Burt stepped in. "Nah. All that did is made this kid a fighter. Right, buddy?" he asked. Kurt, encouraged by his father's approving voice, dashed over and tried to climb into Burt's lap. Burt gave him a boost immediately. "Gonna be hard to stop, this one," he said as Kurt nestled against his shoulder. "He's gonna be tough."

"Of course he is." Burt's mother patted Kurt's cheek and pulled him off Burt's lap. "Come to Grandma, Kurtsie."

"Don't call him that," Burt and his father chorused in unison. "Kid's a man," Burt's father added. "Don't give him a girl's nickname."

"I don't think any girl would want to be called 'Kurtsie', either," Katherine said dryly, standing up. "I hear a car in the driveway. I'll go get the door."

Soon, the small house was filled with Burt's family. His parents, his older sisters Mildred and Liz with their children, and his younger brother Andy, who'd flown out from Pennsylvania. He and Burt greeted each other a little awkwardly, but Andy's smile widened an impossible amount when Kurt came running out to investigate.

"There he is! I've got something for you, Kurt."

"It had better not be a membership for Greenpeace or something," Burt half-joked.

"Almost as bad." Andy winked at Burt, and handed Kurt a lion without a mane wearing a blue scarf.

"Andy!"

"I'm just saying, give the kid some options, Burt! Not everyone has to be a Buckeyes fan! Go Penn State! Can you say that, Kurt?"

"Go Penn State!" Kurt repeated.

"You are not my brother," Burt informed him. He laughed, but a shadow passed over Andy's face before he joined in. Andy, who was the baby of the family who had left Lima to go to _college_ , and in Pennsylvania at that. And after all that, he'd majored in nursing, which their father grunted at and Burt wondered why he couldn't just do that in Ohio. It was a sore subject, but one Burt couldn't quite resist needling.

But Andy fixed his smile on more firmly. "You never know," he said. "He's obviously going to be brilliant." He ruffled Kurt's hair. "You take after your uncle, don't you, kiddo?"

"His mother," Burt pointed out dryly.

"She can't be too smart. She married you." Andy punched Burt in the arm and headed on in. "Guess I should go say hi to the folks, huh?" He rolled his eyes.

Andy's theatrics aside, the whole thing made Burt smile. Christmas Eve with the family, here in his home. It was exactly what he'd always wanted.

***

"I can't believe you're doing this," his father grumbled.

It was late. Liz and Millie had taken their families to a nearby motel, and Andy had already gone back to their parents' house to get some sleep. His parents sat on the couches watching as Burt and Katherine tried to sort out the pieces of a kitchen playset.

"I can't either," Burt admitted, not exactly in a good mood. The smell of whiskey coming from his father's glass wasn't helping. "You know, milk and cookies are more traditional. Can you hand me that screwdriver?" he asked Katherine.

"The kid's two," his father said. "He doesn't even know who Santa is yet. Don't know how many pieces of plastic you need for a girl's toy."

"Tom, it's gender neutral," Katherine said, the exasperation clear in her voice. "There are lots of boys in my kindergarten class that play with the kitchen sets, and that's what Kurt's daycare teachers say he plays with."

That and the dress up clothes. Burt didn't volunteer that information, and he noticed that Katherine didn't, either. Besides, he'd seen those dress up clothes. Yeah, there were princess dresses, but there were fireman suits and a racecar driver outfit and doctor clothes. Couldn't blame a kid for wanting to pretend to be any of those.

"Besides," Katherine continued, "no son of mine is going to grow up not knowing how to cook. Kids don't get married right away anymore. And unlike _some_ people, he's not going to live off frozen waffles, canned soup, and TV dinners until he meets his wife."

"Hey! Nothing wrong with canned soup!" Burt protested.

Burt's mother cleared her throat. "So," she said. "Any… news yet?"

Burt and Katherine exchanged glances, and Burt sighed. "No. Look, Mom, I know you're excited about the possibility of another grandkid, but can you please back off?"

"Well, I don't know what you're waiting for," his mom said. "You're not getting any younger."

The truth was, they weren't waiting. They'd started trying as soon as the doctor said it was all right after Katherine had had Kurt, because if the struggle it took to get Kurt was any indication, they were in for a long wait for number two. A long, painful wait. Burt found Katherine's hand and squeezed it, and she smiled grimly at him. "We'll manage, Mom," Burt said.

"Besides, if they had another boy, then they'd have to get a dance studio," his father put in sarcastically, and Burt had to focus on restraining his wife.

"You know, it's not that big a deal about the kitchen," Burt's mother told him late that night as they looked in on Kurt. "I don't think you remember, but you used to play with one of Millie's dolls all the time. Your father, consummate soldier that he was," she rolled her eyes, "was convinced there was something wrong with you. But you know what? It might have taken me almost three decades, but now I see exactly what your little doll obsession meant. It meant you were going to be a wonderful father, Burt." She patted his arm. "Kurt's going to be okay."

"I know that," he said. He closed Kurt's door and glanced down the hall to where his father was sitting in the living room. "How's he doing?" he asked, jerking his chin in his father's direction.

His mother shrugged. "You know it's never as bad in the winter."

No. It was the humidity that set off his father's drinking. But he was still drinking tonight. But there was steel in his mother's eyes; this wasn't a conversation she was going to have right now. Again. Burt sighed.

"Have a good night, Mom," he said, capitulating.

She kissed him on the cheek. "Have a good night, sweetie."

Sweetie. He was thirty years old. He glanced back over his shoulder at his son's closed door, and promised that he would never, _ever_ call his kid by a pet name when they were six, much less thirty.

That was for sure.

***

"I don't know how you stand him drinking like that," Katherine said as they got ready for bed.

"Because it's not like your father," Burt explained. He'd lost count of how many times he'd had this conversation. "He doesn't hit anyone. He doesn't drive. He doesn't go to work drunk. He knows what he's doing to himself. I don't know how I can make him get it."

"I know," Katherine sighed. "I just don't understand how you can accept it."

Burt shrugged. "What choice have I got? Can't dry him out myself." He slid into the bed. Katherine sighed and laid down next to him, her long blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. "Besides, he's my dad. Guess I just have to live with it."

"Mmm." She leaned in and kissed him. "You're a stronger person than I am. Or a nicer one."

"Seriously doubt that," Burt said, but he was pleased all the same.

***

Kurt loved the kitchen set. He played with it for hours on Christmas morning, carrying on long conversations with the dishes, the plastic food, and anyone who happened to be in his trajectory. Katherine was delighted, but Burt had a niggling feeling of unease about the whole thing. But that disappeared after lunch, when Kurt laid down on his stomach and spent hours meticulously lining up the Matchbox cars that Burt had bought him, despite the "ages 3 and up" on the box.

Katherine was right, he told himself. There was nothing to worry about. Kurt might like kitchens, but he liked cars, too. Everything was going to be fine.

***

When Kurt was two and a half, Katherine had her fourth miscarriage. "No," the doctor told them. "It's not a good idea to try again. I'm sorry, but I think it's for the best. You could look into adoption if you really feel like your lives won't be complete without a second child."

"No," Burt said. "We've got one perfect child already. We'll just be happy with what we've got."

Katherine was crying, but the way she squeezed Burt's hand meant that she agreed completely. They had Kurt, and if that was all they were going to have, then that was all that they'd need.

***

"Mr. Hummel." The daycare instructor greeted him with a brittle smile. "Where's Katherine?"

"She's sick today," Burt said, hands shoved in his pockets. "Kurt ready?"

Her smile was definitely forced. "Not yet." She turned around. "Kurt? Kurt, your daddy's here."

Even at the age of three, almost four, the kids were already gravitating to the boys' side and the girls' side, it appeared. Burt searched the boys' side, looking for his son.

"Daddy!" Burt looked down. Kurt was standing there, wearing a pink dress over his clothes, a crown on his head. "Do I look pretty?"

For a long moment, Burt couldn't speak. Kurt was so undeniably pleased with himself, but _he was wearing a dress._ "Get that thing off," he ordered his son.

Kurt's face fell. "Don't wanna," he insisted.

"Kurt," the daycare instructor broke in, "it's time for you to go. You can play with the dress again tomorrow."

Kurt looked from the dress to his father again, sighed, and then stomped off. Burt waited until he was about ten feet away before he grabbed the teacher's arm. "What the hell are you doing, letting him put that dress on?"

She looked a little scared, even after he backed off. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel," she said. "I did try to convince him that boys don't wear dresses, but… I'm sure you know that Kurt can throw quite the tantrum when he wants."

"I know." That was an understatement.

"It's just easier," she explained. "He doesn't hurt anyone, and we have seventeen other kids in the class."

"But it's not normal!" Burt insisted. "He's a boy! He's got no business putting on a princess dress!"

The teacher just shrugged.

Burt was quiet as he got Kurt into his jacket and then into the car. Kurt didn't notice; he was telling Burt about some craft they'd done. Burt only half listened until they were driving.

"So," he said, watching Kurt in the rear view mirror. "Do you play dress up a lot?"

Kurt nodded. "I play dress up with Carrie and Madison. We get to be princesses!"

"Princesses," Burt said dryly. "What about the boys?" Kurt didn't answer, and Burt looked back over his shoulder. "Kurt? What about the boys?"

"I like playing with Carrie and Madison," Kurt insisted quietly. It was the kind of quiet stubbornness that Burt knew would lead to a screaming fit if he argued with it. He decided to switch tactics.

"What else do you like to do at school?"

"I like painting," Kurt said. "And art."

"What about the cars? Do you play with the cars?"

"Sometimes," Kurt said, looking out the window.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Burt said, lightening considerably. "Maybe we can get you a racetrack for your birthday, huh? Or even _go_ to a real racetrack? How would you like that?"

Kurt didn't answer.

"Kurt? Does that sound good, buddy?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, with no real enthusiasm.

"What do you _want_ for your birthday?"

Kurt looked away from the window and right at the front seat, so Burt could see his eyes. "A pair of sensible heels."

***

"Would you stop overreacting?" Katherine scowled, blowing her nose irritably. "I just said yesterday that I needed to find a pair of sensible heels. Trying to teach in those… _things_ you find in the stores today… it's impossible." She punctuated her sentence with a furious blowing.

"He had on a _dress_!" Burt said. "This isn't just some kid imitating his mother, Katherine! There's something really wrong!"

"Not necessarily!"

"He plays with girls!"

"So what? You got a problem with girls?"

"He should be playing with boys!"

"Because girls aren't as good?" Katherine said sharply. "Because girls are somehow lesser than boys?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. This is about our son."

"That's right," Katherine said, "this _is_ about our son, and how you're teaching him to think of women. If you forbid him to play with girls, you're teaching him that girls are second class citizens!"

Oh, _shit_. He did not need Katherine on her soap box right now. Burt took a deep breath. "Look, Katherine. I'm not saying anything of the kind, okay?" Her dubious expression didn't disappear. "But I'm worried."

"What are you worried about?" Katherine bit off.

There was a word lingering on the dark edges of his brain. A word that clenched his stomach and his fists, and made him want to scream with the wrongness of it. Katherine stared at him expectantly, but he couldn't bring himself to think it, much less say it. Just saying it might make it true. "Nothing," he finally mumbled. "Guess I'm just tired."

Katherine blew her nose again and glared at him.

***

Kurt might love princess dresses and sensible heels, but the one thing he loved even more was his father. Burt knew that, because every time he came home, Kurt dropped whatever he was doing and came running, arms open, ready to be scooped up. And every he picked that little boy up, it warmed Burt's heart.

Kurt loved to go for walks, holding Burt's hand and either talking a mile a minute or singing. He loved to go into the garage, too, and to talk to the mechanics, the customers, the suppliers… hell, Kurt would pretty much talk to anyone. And Burt didn't think he was biased when he thought that they were enjoying it. Over and over again, people told him how smart and articulate his little boy was, how advanced… the daycare teacher even tossed out the word _gifted_.

The idea that Kurt was intelligent shouldn't have been out of the ordinary to Burt. After all, Katherine had her college degree, and she could have been so much more than a teacher in a small Ohio town. And Andy had always been top of his class. But to hear that his son was so bright filled him with a pride he hadn't known was possible. And maybe that's what all this was about. It wasn't Kurt being girly, or being prissy, or being… his mind veered away from the words he was thinking. It was about Kurt being _smart._

And yeah, that could make Kurt's life hell. Burt knew that as well as anyone. But maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Because there were a lot of kids that were smart, too, and didn't get singled out for shit. Hell, Katherine herself, as far as Burt knew.

He looked into the family room, where Kurt was lying on the floor, playing with his Matchbox cars. The kid was _four_ , for crying out loud. Everything was going to be all right.

 _Gifted._ He smiled.

***

Princess dresses and Matchbox cars. Heels and sneakers. Tricycles and kitchens and crayons and Play-doh. Transformers and Legos. Kurt's childhood was a whirlwind of brightly colored plastic and toys that Burt didn't fully understand. But he put his foot down the day Kurt asked for a Barbie.

"No," he told Katherine that night ad they cleaned up the kitchen. "Absolutely not."

"Burt, it's a-"

"A what?" he demanded. "A phase? Is that what you're going to tell me? Because I'll tell you, Katherine, this has been going on too long to be a phase."

"And what if it has?" Katherine shot back. She hadn't raised her voice, but her eyes narrowed. "What if it's not a phase, Burt?"

"What do you mean?"

She stared at him, and then deliberately set the pan she was cleaning down on the counter. "Fine. I'll say it out loud. What if our son is gay?"

It was exactly what he was thinking, but to hear the words put so baldly to it _hurt_. It made him sick to even hear it. "He's not," Burt denied, shaking his head. "He's not going to be." Katherine's eyes bored into him. "He's not," Burt insisted again. "All those dolls and dresses… they aren't right, but they don't mean…" he remembered something she always liked to say. "Stereotyping," he said. "It's stereotyping." He paused. "Isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" she asked. "Because you know what, Burt? Stereotypes exist for a reason, and sometimes people fall into them. And Kurt…" she trailed off meaningfully.

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying we'd just better get used to the idea that our son may very well be gay." Katherine bit the words out. "It's not written in stone, but I think we'd better be prepared for the possibility."

Burt sat down, his stomach churning. "You're sure." She had to be joking. She _had_ to be.

"No. I just told you that-"

"No, it wasn't a question." He looked up at her. "You're sure. You think Kurt's gay."

Katherine shrugged. "It wouldn’t surprise me."

"He's gay." The word felt so heavy in his mouth. _Gay._ And now that she said it, a world of things that Burt didn't understand opened up in front of him: limp wrists and lisps and cross-dressing and fishnet stockings and makeup and rainbow flags and AIDS. He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Look," Katherine went back to scrubbing the pots in the sink, "it's not the end of the world," she said, in a voice that was an attempt at false cheerfulness. "We don't know anything for sure yet. And even if he _is_ gay, life's not like what it used to be for… for… homosexuals." She swallowed hard. "I mean, look at all the celebrities that come out now. There's that Ellen. She just came out. And there's… Greg Louganis. Elton John."

"Name me an athlete that's not a figure skater that says they're gay," Burt shot out.

Katherine treated him to a withering glare. "First, I just did. Second, gay or straight, Kurt is _not_ going to be a professional athlete," she said. "You've seen him run."

Burt had, all flailing hands and on his toes. He sighed. "Fine," he said. "That's not the important part anyway. Name me one person – one person here in Lima, Ohio – one person that _we_ know, that's gay and is happy about it." She was silent. "You can't, can you?" he demanded. "And there's a reason for that. People don't do that around here!"

"That you know of! It's not like people come into the garage and introduce themselves to you with a 'hi, can you change my oil and rotate my tires, and by the way, I'm gay!'"

"That doesn't change this. That doesn't change any of this," Burt ground out. "The fact is that the-"

The phone rang.

It was a sharp, jarring sound in their conversation, and it froze them both. People didn't often call them after Kurt's bedtime, unless something was wrong. Burt spared one more angry look for his wife and then yanked the receiver out of the cradle. "Hello?"

"Burt?"

"Dad?" Burt sat down slowly. "What's wrong?"

"It's your mom." His father sounded so broken. "She had a heart attack."

"What? When? Is she all-"

"Burt?"

"Dad?"

"She's dead."

He stared at the receiver, overcome with shock.

***

Burt picked Andy up at the airport. Andy was quiet and subdued.

"How's the family?" Andy asked, when they'd been driving in silence for a while.

"All right. How are you?"

Andy looked broken. "I was going to come home in a few weeks. I didn't tell her, but I was going to come. And I was going to bring Alyssa."

"Alyssa?" Burt realized he had no idea of what his brother's dating life was like, a realization that was brought home when Andy reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box.

"Alyssa."

"Wow. Congratulations." Burt wanted to muster enthusiasm, but he just couldn’t.

Andy wasn't offended. "Yeah. Thanks," was all he said, and then looked out the window. "So much that Mom's going to miss, you know? She always wanted me to settle down and get married. I think she was afraid I was queer."

Burt's hands jerked and the car swerved. Andy shouted and grabbed the handle on the door, and Burt managed to straighten everything out.

"Whoa. You okay?" Andy asked.

"Yeah. Sorry." Burt's knuckles were still white as his hands gripped the steering wheel. "You aren't, are you?"

Andy made a dismissive noise. "Of course not," he scoffed. "Just slow off the mark. But Mom won't… I really wanted her to meet Alyssa. Because Dad…" he sighed. "I'm sure Alyssa won't be good enough for Dad."

"Dad hasn't liked anyone we've married," Burt pointed out. "He hates Katherine."

"Big shock," Andy said dryly. "She voted for Clinton."

"And so did you."

Andy shrugged. "It's more than that with Katherine, though. You know that, right?"

Burt looked at him from the corners of his eyes. "No."

"It's the family thing. The fact she doesn't talk to hers. I know she's got reasons," he said before Burt could interrupt and defend his wife. "But they don't think it's right. Family should stick together."

"I think they wouldn't like her even if she was Marcia Brady when it came to her family," Burt muttered.

"Probably not," Andy conceded, "and that's why Alyssa's not going to be good enough. She's not a good little Stepford housewife and she won't bring me back to Lima and she won't get me to join the NRA or whatever it is Dad wants." He tried to say it casually, but there was bitterness there. "I wouldn't want your life, Burt, but sometimes I really envy you."

"Don't," Burt said sharply, uncomfortable for reasons he couldn't explain. Maybe because he'd never done anything to gain that status, or maybe because right now everything seemed like shit. "I need to concentrate," he said. "Damn roads."

"All right," Andy said, and they road the rest of the way in silence, broken only by the radio.

***

Burt never went down to the hospital, so the first time he saw his mother's body was at the wake. And that was when the terrible realization hit: his mother wasn't going to be here.

Kurt was four years old, and she wasn't going to be here to tell Burt what to do. She wasn't going to be able to guide him or ground him or reassure him that everything was going to be all right. She wasn't going to be able to change anything or help him. She'd done so much for them for the four short years of Kurt's life – taught them both how to change a diaper, how to give a baby a bath, helped them potty train, been on call when Kurt was sick… the list went on and on. And now, when it was becoming clear that things were going to stay confusing, she was gone. Burt didn't know if he could do it without her.

Late that night, after the service and the funeral and the guests and the food, he checked in Kurt. Kurt was asleep in his bed, feet up by his pillow and head at the other end, nestled tight in a nest of stuffed animals, lying on his back with a hand next to his face.

"You don't even know what happened today, do you?" Burt asked softly. He brushed a hand over his son's soft hair. "She loved you, you know. She'd keep loving you."

He sighed. "I know you've probably just got your foot in the door of Heaven, Mom, but do me something, will ya? Watch over Kurt. Change this. Just… make him normal. And _happy_. Please. Don't let him go… the way we're afraid of him going. Please."

Kurt stirred in his sleep, clutching his stuffed elephant tighter. Burt leaned over, dropped a quick kiss on Kurt's head, and ducked out before he could wake up.

***

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Kurt?" Burt was slumped in a chair, staring moodily at nothing. It had been three weeks since his mother died, and it was only hurting more. But Kurt was oblivious.

"Play with me?"

He didn't feel like playing, but it wasn't fair to Kurt to say so. "Sure, buddy. What do you want to play?"

"Tea party."

Burt cringed. "Not today. How about we do a puzzle instead?"

Kurt got that expression that meant a tantrum was coming. "I want to have a tea party," he insisted.

"Okay, okay, we'll have a frikking tea party," Burt muttered. He couldn't deal with one of Kurt's fits right now.

He watched his son as he reluctantly slid to the floor. Kurt was in his glory, his thin, high voice piping as he poured tea, as he served plastic cookies, as he found an old scarf his mother had given him and wrapped it around his neck. Burt sat woodenly, responding only when Kurt asked him a direct question, and then with the minimum number of words.

Maybe it was the grief, or maybe it was just how obvious everything was when Kurt played games like this, but everything Kurt did and said grated across Burt's nerves. Every giggle, every question, every swish and pour of tea. He tried to tell himself it was just a kid thing, but it all sharpened and pointed to one thing.

 _Gay._ Gay, gay, gay, _gay._ As his son played a girl's game, Burt couldn't see the smile or the freckles or the intelligence or the joy. All those things his son might be, all of them were eclipsed by one simple word.

 _Gay._

Prissy and girly, weak and effeminate, flighty and uncommitted… everything he never wanted a son of his to be, that's what Kurt would become. That's what Kurt was _becoming._

Burt abruptly stood up and left the room, angry at everything.

***

"Maybe we should try again. Think about adoption or something," Burt said suddenly that night as they were getting ready for bed.

Katherine looked up, startled. "What?"

"Family of four. That's what we always wanted, right? We could start looking into it again. Maybe get a little brother for Kurt."

Katherine's eyes narrowed. "A little brother?"

"Yeah."

She set her hairbrush down very deliberately. "You know we'd have better chances of adopting a girl," she said slowly. "Especially if we adopted from Asia, although you won't let us do that because of your father."

"You want a little kid to deal with my father?" Burt asked. "You know what my father would say about a kid from over there."

Katherine picked her brush up again. "I do," she said finally. She didn't seem happy about any of this.

"So what do you say?" Burt asked. "Want to think about it?"

"No," Katherine said. "I don't." She put down her brush and climbed into bed, curled up against the edge, as far as she could get from his side. "Good night, Burt."

***

The anger curled itself into a ball inside his chest. He found himself snapping more and more.

"Stop crying! It's just a skinned knee!"

"Get that necklace off. It's for girls."

"Don't cry over it. Boys don't cry, all right? Be a man!"

"For God's sake, Kurt, get off! You're getting to big to act like this!"

And as he pushed his son away, his wife retreated further into the distance, her mouth pressed into a thin, tight line.

***

"Mommy?" Kurt, who was six, looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, coloring something that he said was Katherine and Burt getting married, but looked more like space aliens disembowling their victim.

"Yes, Kurt?" Katherine asked idly. Burt glanced at her over the top of his newspaper. She looked tired and drawn.

"Can boys marry boys?"

Burt's hands tightened around the paper. Katherine's eyes immediately flew to Burt, but her spine straightened, especially as he stayed silent. "Not yet, sweetheart. At least not in Ohio. But maybe someday," Katherine said lightly.

"Maybe someday?" Burt muttered. "Maybe someday? And you wonder why our kid is shaping up to be a fag, when you talk like that?"

"Kurt," Katherine's voice was steely and gentle at the same time, "take your crayons and play in your room."

"But I don't want to-"

"Kurt!"

Kurt muttered something, but picked up his crayons and flounced to his room. Katherine waited until she heard his door slam shut before she turned on Burt.

"You-"

"What do you want me to say, Katherine?" Burt was ready for her attack. "Huh? That we should- that we should just go along with this? Encourage him? That we should just teach him that this is all okay? Because I'll tell you, it's not all okay."

"You're right, Burt. This isn't okay," Katherine said. "None of how this is working is okay. Kurt is who he is, and if he's going to be-"

"He's not gonna be a fairy, okay?" Burt shouted. "Not in this town!"

"Don't you get it, Burt?" Katherine shouted right back. "This is not some choice Kurt is making. He isn't even old enough to know what sex is!"

"So we should be teaching him-"

"Teaching him what? That sex between two men is wrong?"

"Yes!"

Katherine's hands were clenched into tight fists as she took deep breaths, obviously trying to control herself. "Look," she ground out, her voice rough and strained, "I'm confused, too. But one thing is clear to me; if Kurt _is_ gay, he's not choosing it for himself. He's too little to understand rebellion, and he's too little to understand sex and orientation. _If_ he's gay- and that is still an 'if', Burt – this is just… how he was born."

"How he was born," Burt scoffed. "No it isn't. We encouraged it. It's our fault. We bought him that kitchen set. We let him play with those dresses. You read him those books and took him to see that _Fantasia 2000_ and _you_ -"

"Don't you dare do that!" Katherine shot back. "Don't you dare put this on me! That's not how this works!"

"Oh yeah? How does it work then?"

"He just _is_! If he's gay, then he's just gay! He's too little to have the first idea of what it means; all he seems to know is that he might want to marry a boy someday!"

"You know that?" Burt said. "Did he say that?" Katherine didn't answer, and the anger washed over him. "Did he say that!?"

"Yes!" Katherine shouted. "He did! He asks me about it every now and then! Can boys marry boys? Can a boy love a boy?"

"And you tell him it's okay?"

"Well, what else am I supposed to say?"

"It's not okay!" Burt shouted. "It's not okay, and it's never going to be okay, and I am not going to have a prissy little _faggot_ for a son!"

The words fell between them, and Katherine drew herself up sharply. "Then you're not going to have a son," she said.

"What?" Burt asked, confused as hell. "Don't be ridiculous. I-" but Katherine was already storming off towards their bedroom. "Where are you going?"

She didn't answer. Burt glared around the room, and then kicked a discarded truck under the couch. Back in the bedroom, he heard Katherine banging around. When he glanced down the hall, he saw that Kurt's door was still closed. Anger was still coursing through him, but with Katherine not in the room glaring at him like it was all his fault, he could at least _think_ again.

 _Faggot._ He said the word again in his head. "Fag," he said, out loud, to the living room at large. He made a face and his stomach twisted. He supposed it should feel better to just be able to _say_ the word. It didn't.

How could Katherine not understand? This was their _son_ they were talking about. It wasn’t some news article or some kid in California. Not some test case or some psychological study. It was their _kid._ Their _boy_ , who was facing a life like this. And their boy deserved for them to try to change it.

Katherine was still angrily banging around in their bedroom. Burt took a deep breath and headed down the hall. They had to work this out.

He wasn't sure what he expected when he opened the door. Maybe Katherine throwing something at his head, maybe her flat out ignoring him… he didn't know. But he knew he wasn't expecting her to be throwing clothes from a laundry basket to a suitcase. His blood turned cold. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," Katherine said. " _We're_ leaving. Me and Kurt."

"What?" Burt stared at her, completely dumbfounded. The chill intensified.

Katherine wiped her cheeks. "I love you, Burt. I do. But I have to do what's right for Kurt, and I can't have him around you right now."

"Come on, that's ridiculous," Burt said, staring disbelievingly at the suitcase. "You can't expect me to be happy about this, and just because I'm not doing some dance of joy that our kid is _gay_ … I don't want to just lie down and accept this. We can fix this. I know we can."

She laughed hollowly. "Fix this," she mocked.

"Fix this," Burt repeated. "We can find a way… we can fix this."

"He's not sick. It's not like he has cancer or something. You know that." She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear irritably and stuffed a stack of underwear into the suitcase.

"I know. Be easier if he did," Burt said.

Katherine stilled. "What?"

"It would be easier to deal with something like that," Burt said. "We could go to the doctors, get him some medicine… people understand that. _I_ understand that."

"So you would rather have a son with cancer than a gay son."

Something about her question made Burt feel like his entire life hung on his answer. "Just said it would be easier."

Katherine shook her head angrily and went back to packing her bag. "Then I'm definitely doing the right thing." She pulled the suitcase shut and zipped it. "If it was just me, I could handle this. But I won't do this to Kurt." She wiped her cheeks again. "Kurt and I are leaving, Burt. And unless you get your head out of your ass, we're not coming back."

Burt stood in the doorway, shaking his head and that cold feeling coursing through his body even faster. "No. You're joking. You can't be leaving. Katherine, we can work this out. We can-"

She stopped. "No, _we_ can't work this out. _You_ have to work this out. When you do, come find me. But don't you dare find me until then."

He could stop her. He could block her way, grab her arms, _make_ her stay. He could shout and rage, he could fight her… but he couldn't. All he could do was stand there and stare as Katherine picked up her suitcase.

"I'll come back to get more of Kurt's things when you're at the garage," she said. She stopped right in front of him, leaned in, then shook her head and pulled away. "Good bye, Burt."

"Wait," he said frantically as she left the room. "We can-"

"We can't."

She was really going to do this. That cold feeling solidified, and he was completely frozen. He stared at his wife as if she was a stranger, unable to feel anything. Unable to _do_ anything, or say anything that would change her mind. Her face was set, and he knew without a doubt this was what she looked like when she left her parents' house. You couldn't stop Katherine when she was like this.

But one small thing remained, one small ember that broke through all of the cold and ice inside him and flickered long enough to _hurt_. "Don't I get to say goodbye to Kurt?"

She nodded, her lips pressed together.

They walked to Kurt's room together. When Katherine opened the door, they saw him laying on the floor, the crayons scattered near him. Kurt looked up with wide, inquisitive eyes when he saw his parents.

"Kurt?" Katherine said with a gentle brightness. "You and Mommy are going to take a little trip. Just the two of us. Okay?"

"What about Daddy?" Kurt asked.

"Daddy…" Katherine looked at Burt, and then braced her shoulders. "Daddy has to work. It's just going to be you and me for a while, okay, sweetie? Get George and Jack, and we'll go."

Kurt got up and ran over to his bed to get his stuffed elephant and tiger. "I don't want to go without Daddy."

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Burt looked at the little boy that had been his light and his life, and it didn't really get through that this kid was _leaving._ That his family was… he closed his mind angrily and knelt down. _Family sticks together._

But this was happening, even if it felt like it was happening to someone else.

"Go with Mom and be good, okay, buddy?" he asked. And when Kurt hugged him, his little arms tight around Burt's neck, that little ember flared again. "Bye, buddy," he said, his mouth against Kurt's soft hair.

He walked with them through the family room, out to the garage, watched as Katherine buckled Kurt in. The click of the straps, the dull blue of the car, the scent of her perfume mixing with the gasoline and oil smells of the garage. Katherine opened the door, and then climbed into the car. And without another word, she left.

She left.

Burt was left standing in the garage, the car gone, his wife gone, his son gone… his hands in his pockets as he watched the tail lights dwindle. He went into the house and closed the door.

And then he put a fist through the wall.

***

The living room was quiet. Burt knelt down and pulled the truck he'd kicked out from under the couch, put it in a pile with some tinker toys. There were some Matchbox cars scattered in one corner, and a string of bright beads in another. He put them all in a small pile.

He methodically cleaned the blood from his hand, swept up the dust from the drywall. He stared at the hole in the wall, ignored the whispered thought that it was like a hole in himself. Pushed the thought away, turned back to the silent house.

The kitchen still had the remains of dinner. He did the dishes, washing plates and pots and bowls. His plate, clean. Katherine's plate, where she'd picked the carrots out of the casserole she'd made. Kurt's plate, where the carrots and pasta were gone but most of the chicken remained. He dumped it into the disposal and ran it.

It was so _quiet_ without Kurt or Katherine.

His hand was still sore from where he'd put it through the drywall. He stared down at it for a long moment, like it belonged to someone else, and then shook his head and went back to the bedrooms.

Kurt's small room was so still and dim without him. Burt looked around at the toys, neatly stowed considering that the room's occupant was six years old. He sat down on Kurt's bed, clumsily made with a plain blue comforter and a furry hot pink blanket. Some of Kurt's stuffed animals were still there. Burt picked up a bear- creatively named Beary- who had been Kurt's favorite once upon a time. That poor bear had been dragged everywhere until George came along. He settled the bear in his lap and looked around the room.

He ended up falling asleep there on Kurt's bed, a mostly-discarded stuffed animal clutched in his arms.

***

The dead feeling wasn't gone the next day. Burt called into work and told them he was out sick, and then got in his truck and drove over to his father's house.

He sat in the driveway, staring blindly at the house he'd grown up in. Small and neat, but with the grass a little long and the flowerbeds untamed. Finally, he turned the engine off and got out of the truck.

The door was unlocked. Burt let himself in, looking around. The place was a mess. Not a disgusting mess, but a mess. Old newspapers still around, dishes in the sink, a shirt draped over an armchair. Things his mother wouldn't have let go when she was still alive.

"Dad?"

No answer.

He drifted to the wall, where pictures hung. The wedding picture of him and Katherine _hurt_ , but worse was the picture of Kurt, smiling as he sat in a chair. He looked away from those, to the other pictures. Andy on his graduation day and with Alyssa, Millie and her husband and their kids, Liz and her brood. All smiles, all happy. And then pictures of his parents, here and there. _Family sticks together._ He wished he could get that thought out of his mind.

He heard running water, and relaxed. His father was showering. Burt ambled back out to the kitchen. There were empty whiskey bottles in the trash. He frowned as he spotted them, and bent over to pick one up. There were take-out bags in the trash as well. He threw the whiskey bottle out, not wanting to think about that right now.

He made his way to the room that he had shared with Andy when they were growing up but now served as a den. He noticed his mother's sewing basket was still sitting by her chair, and there were three unwashed glasses beside his father's. Pictures of the grandchildren smiled from the wall, as well as his father's framed Purple Heart and Bronze Star. Tucked in the corner, but _out_. They'd never been out when Burt was a kid. He leaned over and looked at them closely.

"Burt."

He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't heard the water shut off, and now his father was standing behind him in a robe with wet hair. "Hey, Dad."

"Shouldn't you be at work?" His father looked genuinely confused. "What's wrong?"

 _Katherine left me._ Burt opened his mouth to say the words, but they wouldn't come out.

"Burt?"

"I just… I took the day off."

"All right." His father was obviously confused, but he took a step back. "Well, give me a minute to get dressed then." Burt nodded and wandered back out to the living room.

He was sitting on the couch when his father came out. "You want anything?" his father asked.

"Nah. I'm good."

"You look like you could use a drink."

"Probably could," Burt agreed, "but I don't want one."

"Well, I'm getting one."

It was ten o'clock in the morning. Burt watched his father pour a whiskey, but didn't say a word.

"How's retirement working out for you?" he asked when his dad sat back down.

"It's all right." His dad leaned back in his chair. "Can't complain." But there was something false about that, something… lonely. The house still seemed so empty without his mom there. Like they were just waiting for her to come home. "Lots of time to myself, working on the golf game."

"Yeah."

"How's Kurt?" his dad asked. Burt looked down at his hands. His dad leaned forward. "Wait, that's not what this is about, is it? Is he okay? He's not sick, is he?"

"He's not sick. He's healthy."

His dad heaved a sigh of relief, but he didn't sit back. "He in trouble at school?"

"He's in first grade. How much trouble can he be in?" Burt asked.

It was a rhetorical question, but his dad didn't seem to take it that way. "Not with the teachers," he said. "With the other kids."

Burt bristled. "What do you mean?" Even though he knew. He knew _exactly_ what his dad meant. And his dad knew it too. His gaze was level and direct. Burt sighed. "Yeah, I know. He's a sissy."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant."

"No it isn't. What I mean is, you've got to be careful or you're going to end up with a fairy on your hands."

Once again, it was almost a relief to hear it stated out loud, even as it made Burt cringe. "Yeah, I know," he said. "That's what I told Katherine, and she freaked."

"She would." His father shifted, slouching lower. "Sometimes I wonder why you married her."

"Yeah, I know."

"She's not our type, kiddo," his dad explained. "Don't get me wrong, she's a good woman. She really is. She just reminds me of those fucking flower children." His dad took a deep drink and grimaced. "Not the peace and love ones. The ones that got all up in our faces when we came home, said we were criminals for doing what we did. I can see that in her. If she'd been my age, she would have done that. And burned her bra."

"Probably," Burt admitted glumly. He thought of the rants on women as second-class citizens and misogyny and seventy-five cents to the dollar. Things about the world that he'd never really paid much mind to, but couldn't deny once Katherine pointed them out.

There wasn't much Burt could deny once Katherine pointed it out. She was good at that. And usually, he liked it. Katherine was someone who could change the world if she wanted to.

"Don't really know how you stand it," his father continued. "And that whole mess with her parents? It's just not right. And it's not a good message to send to Kurt. He ever ask about them?"

Burt just shrugged. "Once in a while. She handles it well."

"Humph." His father looked skeptical, but this was a subject that had long since been argued. "Now, your mom, she was never like that. She kept her mouth shut more." He gestured with his glass. "Better that way."

"Yeah," Burt said, feeling like a traitor. He stared at a patch of carpet on the floor. "Wish Mom was here, though."

"Yeah, I do, too. Cause whatever's on your mind, I'm obviously shit at talking about it." Burt looked up sharply, and they smiled at each other. Not full smiles, just little half smiles that looked almost exactly alike. "Come on," his dad said. "Let's go get something to eat. There's nothing in the fridge."

"All right," Burt said, standing up. He looked around the living room one more time. From an end table, a picture of Kurt smiled at him, stabbing his gut and tearing at his heart.

Burt looked away.

***

There were a lot of things Burt Hummel had never known about his own father.

He hadn't known that his father's grandparents owned a coal mine in Ohio, but that the labor union had set fire to it during a strike. He hadn't known that both his grandparents were in World War II; his grandmother as a nurse and his grandfather as a chaplain. He never knew that his own father had started work right out of high school, or met his mother at a bingo game. He'd never thought about it to realize that they only knew each other three months before they got married.

He'd never known that his sister Mildred had been born seven months after their marriage, or that Liz had been born early like Kurt, or that Andy hadn't been planned. He'd never heard his father talk about their baby days. His mother had, Burt had dutifully listened to her stories, but his father had never said a word about them before today.

There was so much that Burt didn't know, and the biggest thing he'd never realized was just how little he knew about his own father until that day in the diner. He couldn't talk, so his father had filled the silence, rambling about himself. It had left Burt shaken, in some distant corner of his mind that he didn't want to access right now. He watched the lonely man sitting across from him at the table, the stink of stale whiskey clinging to him as he fumbled in trying to comfort a son who didn't know how to connect to him.

 _Family sticks together._ It was a mantra in his head, something that Burt had been saying to himself over and over since the night before. Longer, really. Family sticks together, and that was why he hadn't even thought about packing up and leaving. That was why, angry as he was at what Kurt was becoming, his son's absence burned in his soul. Because Kurt and Katherine were his _family_. And so was his father.

He loved his father. Burt knew that, right down to the core. But even as they sat in the diner talking, he couldn't tell his father about what was happening right now. That Katherine and Kurt were _gone_ , leaving his life. He wanted to believe that it was just too soon and the pain was too raw, but that wasn't the truth. The truth was….

The truth was he didn't want this. He didn't want them gone. But to say that meant… to say that meant so much more than he was ready to say.

And if he told his father that Katherine left, he'd have to explain the why of it. He'd have to admit to everything, have to listen to what his father would say. What he'd say about Katherine, what he'd say about _Kurt…_

Family sticks together wouldn't be the saying of the day. It would be that Burt had had a close one, maybe. That he never trusted Katherine anyway. Never liked her. That maybe Burt was better off without a fag for a son. That maybe Kurt needed to be away, in a place for people like him. That they'd stick together, the two of them. And then there would be more silent dinners with his father while they coped with their losses, more invitations to drink and drown the past. That little ember of pain flared into something much larger, and Burt realized that he could be looking at his own life. Not in thirty years, but in thirty days. There weren't many times that life offered so clear cut a crossroads, with only two choices and two outcomes. But this was one of those times.

His father could have been out of his life. He'd been gone for years when Burt was a toddler and come back a silent man that Burt now realized no one knew. His father could have left, could have spiraled down, could have… there were so many worse things his father's life could have been. But because he'd held on somehow, because he'd made efforts, he was sitting here in a diner with his son. They might not know how to talk to each other on this level, they might not connect… but they were _here_. And Burt sure as hell knew that counted for something.

He picked up the bill and paid it, and drove his father home. There were no embraces, no exchanged words, nothing more than a goodbye. But the ice in him was beginning to crack, and Burt was starting to see exactly what he had to do.

***

The house was still silent when he came home. The shades hadn't been put up and the dishes were still in the sink. There was a stale, musty feeling to the rooms, although it was better than his father's house. Burt looked around, thought he should clean, and then flopped down on the couch.

The clock ticked.

There was a book on the floor, with bright colors and large text. There was the smell of perfume in the air, light and sweet.

There was a message on the machine. Andy, his voice light. "Burt? Call me when you get this." Nothing else. Burt deleted it.

Kurt's door was open. Burt found himself pulled into the little room like a magnet was drawing him in. He flipped the light on, looking around the room.

All of Kurt's stuffed animals were gone. Sometime when he was out, Katherine had come back and retrieved them. The sight broke through the unreality of the situation and made it blindingly, achingly _real_. Kurt and Katherine were _gone,_ and unless he stopped them, he was never getting them back.

He had to go _now_.

***

Burt didn't know exactly where she'd be, but he had ideas. He went to friends' houses, to other teachers' houses, to cheap motels. One by one, he crossed them off his list.

It was nine thirty when he drove by a Target, the red light from the sign casting a glow. Burt pulled the truck into the lot and parked, then hustled inside. The bright fluorescent lights hurt his eyes, but it was easy to find what he wanted, even if he wasn't completely sure about the size.

Size didn't matter, Burt told himself. It was the thought that counted.

He finally found them at a motel. Katherine's car was parked in the lot, and he knocked on three doors before Katherine answered.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. Her hands were on her hips and her brow was furrowed, but he saw it- there was hope in her eyes. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. But he was ready.

"Look," he said, because he knew Katherine would not let him into that room unless he spoke first, "I don't like any of this, okay? This whole gay thing? I don't get it. I don't like it. This isn't what I wanted, and I can't deal with it."

"I already told you-" Katherine said, but Burt held up a hand.

"Let me finish. I don't like it, but here's the thing. I love you. I love _Kurt_. And this is my family, and I'm not losing it.

"If this is how it's gonna be, that Kurt's gonna be gay… I don't know that there's anything I can do about that. Not if it's showing up this early. So if that's the way it's happening… I guess if I want this family, it's me that's gotta change. The thing is, I don't know how. I don't know how to deal with this, how to be a dad to a kid like this. But I want to know. I want to figure this out, and I want… I want our family. I don't know what to do."

"You could ask," Katherine said, her arms crossed. "You could _ask_ , Burt."

"You're really going to make me beg, aren’t you?" Burt asked.

"Can you think of why I shouldn't?" Katherine demanded.

Over her shoulder, he saw Kurt sitting on the bed. Kurt, who was sitting on the bed and smiling nervously at him, not understanding exactly what was happening, but obviously aware that Burt was there. Burt put a hand on Katherine's shoulder and gently pushed her to the side; she moved out of the way and let him in.

He was still clutching the Target bag in a sweating hand. He pulled out his purchase- a pair of clear plastic shoes with Cinderella on them, and knelt down in front of Kurt.

"Look," he said, slipping the slipper onto Kurt's foot, "I know the past few days have been confusing for you, huh, buddy?" Kurt nodded, and Burt cringed. "And I'm real sorry about that. Real sorry. But we're gonna work this all out, and if your mom will help me… _I'm_ gonna make this all work out. I'm gonna be your hero, your champion, your…" he swallowed around the word, but said it, because it was the word that he needed to say. "Your _prince._ Got it?"

Kurt, who was watching silently, nodded, and then when the shoes were on his feet (a little too big, but just as well), he jumped off the bed and wrapped his arms around Burt's neck in a tight, strangling hug that made Burt close his eyes with relief. He hugged Kurt back just as tightly, until behind him, he felt Katherine's hands on his back.

"That was one hell of a groveling," Katherine told him softly, wiping at her eyes. "Do you mean it?"

"I mean it," Burt promised into Kurt's ear.

"Kurt, sweetie?" Katherine said when Kurt let go of his father to admire his new shoes. "Get your friends together. We're going to go home tonight."

***

"The thing is, Burt, I know this is all overwhelming," Katherine said, rubbing her face in exhaustion. It was three in the morning and they sat at the table, empty beer bottles in front of them both. "I know you don't believe me, but it's overwhelming for me, too. And I'm not thrilled about it. The way this world treats homosexuals… that's not the life I'd choose for my son. I don't want him to be teased and discriminated against… and you've seen some of those news stories. What can happen to these kids."

"Yeah." Burt peeled the label off his bottle, staring at it intently. But Katherine caught his hand.

"Look," she said, and _God_ , she looked exhausted. He wondered if she'd slept at all last night. "This isn't something that you have to be ready for all the way right now. It's going to be years before Kurt figures it out for himself, and probably a few years beyond that before he wants to talk about it. Right now, we just need to let him be on these things."

It seemed so small when she put it that way. He could _do_ this. He stared hard at his beer bottle.

"We're going to get through this, Burt," Katherine said. "I don't expect you to become a paragon of enlightenment over night. Especially in Ohio. I know who you are. But who you are… you're a _good man._ And as long as I see you wanting to change on this… wanting to learn and accept who Kurt is… then I'm happy."

"I want to," Burt said, for what felt like the millionth time that night. "I can't lose the two of you." He met her eyes squarely. "You and Kurt… you _are_ everything to me. Both of you."

"Come on," Katherine said, patting his hand in reassurance. "Let's go to bed. It will be easier tomorrow."

***

It was easier "tomorrow", and for quite a while after that. Burt had no doubt that Katherine had been serious about leaving. Fear was a good motivator, and it made it easy to turn a blind eye. And Kurt… Burt wondered exactly how much Kurt knew about the fight. The dress-up clothes stayed in the trunk, and Kurt had not asked for another Barbie.

But Kurt was Kurt, and soon it was musicals and feather boas again.

Burt could deal with the shoes and the hats and the fact that Kurt always wanted to be dressed up. He actually _enjoyed_ _The Sound of Music_ , because they'd all watch it together and hell, it had Nazis as the bad guys. Nothing with Nazis as the bad guys could be all girly, even if Kurt did hide his face in Burt's shoulder during the chase scenes. But there were other times it was so hard not to say anything. Like when Kurt prattled on about his friends at school- all girls-or when Kurt put on his mother's lipstick.

Burt had to walk out of the room for that one. He didn't say it, but he was still angry. Angry that this was his lot, his burden. He hadn't asked for a gay son, damn it.

But at the same time, sharp in his mind, was that night and day they'd been _gone._ And when he winced, when he walked out of the room, when he tried to tell his son that men didn't do that, Katherine got _that_ look in her eyes. That angry, hard, bitter look that told him she would leave again, and if she left again, this time she might not come back. And then Katherine and Kurt would be gone, and that thought made Burt's throat close in fear.

Because Kurt might drive him crazy with his talk about dresses and musicals and tea and princesses, but every day when Burt came home from the garage, Kurt shrieked "Daddy!" and hurtled himself right at him. Every day there was that tight hug around his neck and the softness of Kurt's hair against his cheek. Every day Kurt perched at the table, eagerly telling Burt all about first and then second grade. There were crayon drawings and paintings to admire, letters that became clearer and clearer, and facts about math and animals and other countries that Kurt parroted constantly. Burt found himself being reminded constantly that his son was gifted.

 _Gifted._ He felt a pang when he realized how long it had been since he'd thought that word. Once, he remembered, that had been the only word he'd been able to think of when he'd thought of his son. Before _gay_ took over.

He figured that maybe he should be thinking of _gifted_ again.


	2. The Fortunes You Sometimes See As Fate

"Dad?" Kurt asked, one day in early spring.

"What, Kurt?"

"Can I have a friend come over to play?"

Burt looked up from his newspaper. "Sure, buddy. Which one?"

He fully expected the answer to be Beth or Cassie, Kurt's two best friends. Little girls in his second grade class, one with long blond pigtails and a sweet smile and the other with brown curls a queen bee attitude already. He tensed in preparation for it being Cassie.

"A new friend," Kurt said hesitantly. "Artie."

"Artie?" Burt's eyebrows nearly hit his baseball cap. "Sure, buddy. You can have Artie over."

Kurt was seven, and this was the first time he'd ever mentioned wanting to play with another boy since… since he was three or four. Burt didn't care _what_ this Artie kid was like- he was Burt's new favorite kid.

***

Artie, it turned out, was small and weedy. He wore thick glasses already and he spent a lot of the time that they were at the park looking at the bugs. Even at seven, it was obvious that this kid was a geek, plain and simple. And looking at the dad, it was clear to see where he got it from.

"It's good that they're friends," Arthur Abrams told Burt as they sat on the picnic table and watched the two boys playing. "No offense, because believe me, I mean this about my kid, but they're targets."

"Yeah." Burt cringed at that, because who wanted his son to be a target? It wasn't exactly something to brag about.

Arthur, however, was looking at Artie with an expression of pride. "It's tough, being a target for the bullies," he said. "But if they've got each other, they'll be left alone more."

There was something in his voice… a bit of bitterness and a sour laughter. "That happen to you?" Burt asked.

Arthur snorted. "Of course it did," he laughed. "I mean, come on, Burt. Look at me!" He spread his arms. He was a short, fairly skinny man who wore glasses like his son's and a faded MIT sweatshirt. "I used to get my glasses broken and my lunch stolen and I still wish that schools would outlaw dodge ball."

Oh, God. Kurt and _dodgeball._ Burt remembered the dodge ball games of his childhood and how hard _he_ used to throw the ball at certain kids and cringed again.

Arthur didn't seem to notice. "It's tough on kids out there," he said. "I think sometimes people don't realize just how bad it is when you're that scrawny kid that no one likes." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I know it was a long time ago, but it does stick with you. And as much as I wish I could change the way things work for Artie, I can't. And you can see it all over him."

"How can you say that so easily?" Burt asked, frustrated with Arthur's attitude. "You don't know your kid is going to be… like that. It could work out different."

Arthur shrugged. "It could," he allowed. "It won't. The best I can do is help him where I can. And believe me, one thing that can help him is Kurt. If they stick together, it won't be so bad for either of them. They might both be small, but there is safety in numbers. And I think they'll both need it."

"It's obvious about Kurt, isn't it?" Burt asked when the silence stretched between them too long.

"The other day Artie told me that Kurt wanted to act out _The Wizard of Oz_ and wanted to be Dorothy," Arthur answered, eyes on the boys. "Yeah. It's obvious."

Burt grunted.

"Of course," Arthur continued, "Artie's main objection was that he wanted to be the Tin Man and not the Scarecrow, so…." He sighed. "My wife joked we might be taking prom pictures together."

Burt grunted again.

"Yeah. I know. I didn't laugh either."

"My wife would have, though," Burt admitted. Arthur nodded, and they watched the kids again for a bit. Artie was crouched in the dirt, poking at something with a stick. He showed whatever it was to Kurt, who made a face and stepped back. But, to Kurt's credit, he didn't screech like he did when Burt tried to show him a worm or a bug, and Artie seemed like he was more interested in talking about the crawler than he was in Kurt's response.

"Best we can do for them is encourage the friendship," Arthur said.

"Yeah. Best we can do," Burt echoed.

 _The best we can do_. The words rang through his head. And somewhere, under all the confusion and anger that this was his lot, Burt couldn't help but wonder if this was really the best they could do.

***

Arthur Abrams wasn't someone that Burt would have ever been friends with if their kids weren't drawn together. They just didn't… line up. Arthur didn't particularly care about football, and while he did like baseball, he was a Red Sox fan. Originally from upstate New York, Arthur hadn't grown up in Ohio. He was a few years older than Burt, and he tended to read more than watch television. And worst of all, he had a Ph.D. Burt knew guys with fancy degrees, and how they thought they knew more than everyone else around them. But then he found out what Arthur did with that fancy degree. He worked at the Ford plant in Lima, doing R&D on engines.

After that, it was easy. Because if there was one thing both of them were passionate about besides their kids, it was cars.

Katherine and Arthur's wife Diane clicked immediately as well, and before Burt knew it the Abrams were over for backyard barbecues and dinners. Kurt and Artie would disappear into Kurt's room or play in the yard, and the four adults would sit around drinking beer and waiting for the burgers to grill. It was a surprisingly easy friendship, especially since Burt knew that in high school, he wouldn't have spoken to Arthur unless he needed something.

And Artie _was_ good for Kurt, Burt thought. Artie was into a lot of the things Kurt was- he liked music and he was willing to put on shows on the patio in the backyard, and he wasn't a real aggressive kid. But even though he was a scrawny little kid with all the makings of a geek, he was all boy, and he not afraid to share it. Kurt actually came in one day covered in mud from the creek, and the two of them tried to start a small zoo with lizards, bugs, and a snake they'd found. Kurt started to watch that show Power Rangers because Artie liked it, started to ask for the toys that went with it- _boy_ toys. Burt knew better than to say such a thing to his wife, but he breathed a sigh of relief. Even if Kurt did tend to marry his Power Rangers off rather than making them fight battles, it was a step in the right direction. If Kurt could just blend in a little more, he and Artie would just be those two kids that everyone ignored, instead of the ones everyone picked on, and Burt could live with that.

***

"Diane invited us to their anniversary party next month," Katherine informed Burt from the shower. "She said it's semi-formal."

"What's that mean?" Burt asked suspiciously, with a sinking heart. He had a damn good idea.

"It means you have to wear a suit." He could _hear_ the smile in Katherine's voice. "And it means I need a new dress." She was silent for a moment. "I thought I could take Kurt shopping with me."

"For a dress?"

"Not for him. But he needs a suit as well and- _ouch!_ "

"You okay?"

"Damn razor." He could see Katherine's silhouette through shower curtain; she was shaving her legs. He sighed and knelt down and pulled out a Band-Aid, and Katherine continued. "But Kurt needs a suit as well."

"He gonna wear it enough?" Burt asked.

"It's Kurt," Katherine replied, her voice lightly clipped. "The problem will be convincing him he can't wear it when Artie drags him down to the creek."

"Right." Burt turned back to the mirror and wet his own razor. "You really want to take him shopping? You don't just want the day to yourself?"

Katherine popped her head out of the shower. "That's extremely thoughtful of you," she said. "Should I be impressed or suspicious?"

"Why would you need to be suspicious?"

"Because you don't want Kurt going dress shopping with me."

"Would you stop jumping to conclusions?" Burt demanded, even though yeah, that _was_ what he meant. "I just thought you might like a day off. Go get lunch, go shopping, not have Kurt always nipping at your heels."

"Mmm." Katherine's glare was level for a long moment, and then she ducked back in the shower. There was muttered swearing, and then she said, "So you don't mind if I take Kurt shopping with me?"

 _Yes._ "Why would I mind?" Burt forced. "I'll take the day and watch the game on TV. If you left Kurt, I could take _him_ to the game…."

"You really think Kurt would like a football game?" Katherine drawled, unimpressed.

"It's a lot different in person than it is on TV." Burt suddenly lit up. "I know. If I can get tickets, I'll get them for Arthur and Artie, too. All four of us can go, and you and Diane can go out and… I don’t know. Do whatever you do."

Silence. Then, "All right," Katherine agreed, obviously drawn by the temptation of an afternoon of adult female companionship and no kids. "If you really want."

"Sure. It'll be great." Sure, Kurt didn't like football on TV, but the real thing, and with his best friend… it would be fantastic.

Katherine shut off the water. "Great. Give me that Band-Aid, will you, Burt? This cut just won't stop bleeding."

He handed her the Band-Aid, and she leaned out and kissed him. "You didn't fool me, by the way," she said, with what Burt thought of as her "teacher look".

"I'm trying," he sighed. "I really am. And I figure that if I don't really want to send him shopping with you, then I can take him to do something fun with me."

"And that's why you're off the hook." She kissed him. "But next year, I'm taking Kurt shopping with me."

Burt swallowed hard, but forced himself to say it. "Next year, you do that."

***

Burt couldn't get tickets to a pro game, but he got tickets to a Buckeyes game. They cost twice what they should have, especially for an early-season game against a lousy team, but he figured it would be worth it.

It wasn't.

It was for the Abrams. Artie _loved_ the game and spent more time standing on the bleachers and shouting, completely gleeful. But Kurt was bored, he was cold, the seats were hard, he was _bored_ , and he could have cared less about the game. The only time he perked up was during the halftime show, when the marching bands and cheerleaders took the field.

In fact, Burt spent more time explaining the game to Artie, and Arthur spent more time telling Kurt about how he used to play trombone in the marching band. Not quite how the afternoon was supposed to go.

"How'd was it?" Katherine asked when they came in.

"We stopped for hot chocolate and cookies!" Kurt told her excitedly.

"Hot chocolate and cookies, huh?" Katherine said with a smile. "I suppose that means you're not going to eat dinner."

Kurt shrugged and went to hang up his jacket. It always struck Burt as weird that his kid never needed to be reminded to do that, but he supposed he shouldn't complain on that one. Instead, he kissed Katherine.

"Well?" she asked him. "Did he have a good time?"

"He liked the marching band," Burt said.

"And the game?"

He sighed and switched the subject. "You find a dress?"

"Yes." She looked miles away, but not angry. He knew her face too well to think that, and besides, Katherine had no compunctions about letting him know when she was angry. This was something different. Something had her worried.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's… it's probably nothing," Katherine said.

Definitely worried. Burt frowned. "No, come on. What is it?" he pressed.

Katherine pulled her slacks up to show him the Band-Aid on her shin. "Remember when I did this?"

"Yeah. It's just a shaving cut, right?"

"Yes, but it hasn't stopped bleeding."

"What? It's been a week!"

"I know." Katherine sighed and sat down at the table. "It came up when Diane and I were out today. She said I'd better go into the doctor's and have it checked out."

"For a shaving cut?"

Katherine chewed her lip. "She said it might be a clotting problem. Or… something."

Some little niggling voice said there was a problem with the way Katherine said _something_ , but Burt pushed it away. And before he could say anything, Katherine brightened.

"But I did find a dress," she said. "Do you want to see it?"

"Er…"

"There was only one right answer, babe, and that wasn't it. Kurt!" she called. "Want to see Mommy's new dress!"

The thundering patter of Kurt's feet was completely predictable. "Definitely," Kurt said, barreling into the room. "Please tell me it's red."

"Sorry, kiddo, black. Come on. I'll show you." Katherine put her arm around Kurt and led him out of the room.

"You did that on purpose," Burt dared to grumble at her, but smiled when she stuck her tongue out at him.

***

Like her husband, Diane Abrams had some fancy scientific degree, so Burt never doubted that Katherine needed to see the doctor. But he also wasn't prepared for when Katherine called him at the garage, her voice nervous and shrill.

"Burt? Can you…."

"What is it?" he prompted when she faded off. She was quiet for a long time, taking deep, shaking breaths.

"They need to do tests," Katherine finally said. "Down at the hospital. Can you…."

"I'll be there," he promised her.

 _Tests_. He tried not to think about what tests might mean. He hesitated between the Abrams and his father and called the Abrams instead. In moments, it was arranged that they'd pick Kurt up from school and keep him overnight.

Shit. _Overnight._ For _tests._ Burt might not be the smartest man on earth, but he was pretty sure that his life was about to change.

***

"Acute myelogenous leukemia," the doctor said, her face sympathetic. She said a lot more than that, too, but those were the words that stuck. Those, and "stage three or four, we'll know more in a day or two."

So many more words, about chemotherapy and chances and remission and hospitals. Katherine clung to Burt's hand, asked questions, nodded and agreed. Burt just sat there, the words washing over him.

 _Leukemia_. That was all he could hear.

***

"Daddy!" Kurt came running out the Abrams' door, and then looked around anxiously. "Where's Mommy?" he asked.

Burt swept Kurt up into a tight hug, unable to speak for a long moment. Over Kurt, he saw Arthur and Diane waiting, questioning. He nodded once, and then pulled back. "Do you have your buddies?" he asked Kurt.

Kurt's face furrowed. "I left George in Artie's room."

"Go get him and say goodbye to Artie, okay?" Kurt nodded and ran off.

"Burt?" Arthur asked.

It _hurt_ to have to look at their friends and say it. "Katherine's in the hospital," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "Leukemia. Stage three."

Diane drew in a startled breath, covering her mouth with her hand as her eyes teared up instantly. Arthur just looked crestfallen. Burt shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away.

Kurt returned, hugging George. "Dad? Can we stay for lunch? I'm hungry."

Burt swallowed hard. "Nope, buddy. I thought we could go out for lunch. We need to have a man-to-man talk."

"Is that about sports?" Kurt asked suspiciously, wrinkling his nose.

"Nope. Not about sports."

Kurt brightened considerably. "Okay." He took his dad's hand.

"Burt," Arthur said as they turned to go. "If you need anything, let us know."

"Yeah. Thanks." He smiled at them, and then left to have the hardest conversation he thought he'd ever have in his life.

***

They ended up getting a pizza and bringing it back to the house. Burt had meant to take Kurt out, but damn it, the kid deserved to find out what was happening in private. He waited until Kurt was settled at the table, his pizza cut into neat little squares, fork in hand before he sat down himself with a slice he had no appetite for.

"Where's Mommy?" Kurt asked again.

"Well, buddy, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Kurt looked up, and Burt's heart broke. For months- no, _years_ \- he'd been praying he could just see the kid again as a whole person, and not think any words or whatever that went with it. Now, when he looked at his son, he didn't see anything like _gay_ or _fairy_ or _queer_ … just a little boy that had to be told some very hard truths about life. "Mommy's very sick," Burt said finally. "She's in the hospital."

Kurt put his fork down. "The hospital?" he asked, and he looked so fucking _scared._ "Is she going to die?"

Oh God, he'd hoped to get through more of the conversation before Kurt asked that. Tears flooded his eyes and his throat closed. "Daddy?" Kurt asked, his high voice growing shrill with panic. Burt took a deep breath and pulled it together.

"Mom's in the hospital, buddy," he said, "but she's gonna get better, okay? We've gotta believe that."

"What's going to happen?" Kurt asked.

For the next hour, the pizza grew cold as Burt tried to explain everything the best he could. And it was hard, because Kurt had all kinds of questions that he had no idea how to answer. It was hard enough to tell him that his mom was sick deep in her bones and was going to lose her hair and not be able to come home for… Burt didn't even know how long. The doctors said that the therapy they'd have to give her was strong enough that she'd have to stay in the hospital until certain blood levels… he didn't even remember. And Kurt kept asking for explanations, wanting details that Burt just couldn't give.

Neither of them were hungry, and the pizza ended up in the refrigerator and they ended up on the couch, Kurt crying into Burt's shirt as Burt rocked him back and forth. But in the end, it was Kurt that calmed himself down and they sat together, Kurt's head on Burt's shoulder.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, Kurt?"

"I'm scared."

"I know."

Kurt looked up at him. "Are you scared?"

Burt almost said _no, I'm not._ Because saying he was scared would give the kid the idea that there was something to be scared about, and Burt didn't want to do that, even if it was true. But something in Kurt's face stopped him.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I'm scared."

"Is Mommy scared?"

"Yeah. She's real scared, too."

Oddly enough, Kurt looked a little more relaxed. "So it's okay if I'm scared?"

Oh, _shit_. It hit him like a ton of bricks, what Kurt was really afraid of, and Burt could have kicked himself. Kurt was afraid that to be afraid, to cry like that, and that Burt would think less of him… that it meant that _he, Burt_ … he'd done this.

All of a sudden, everything Katherine had been saying started to make sense. Real sense, and hard, as his kid looked up at him scared that his father would stop loving him if he was scared and crying that his mom might die.

"Kurt." Burt got down on the ground, holding his son gently by the arms. "Listen to me. This isn't a skinned knee or a game you lost. What's happening now… this isn't something little, okay, buddy? This is big and this is scary, and it's okay for you to be sad and scared about it. I am, too. And yeah, we both need to be strong. Both for your mom and for us, okay? But yeah. Sometimes we're gonna be really scared, and that's okay. And when you're scared or when you're sad, you come tell me, and we can be scared and sad together. You got that?"

Kurt didn't answer; he just threw his arms around Burt's neck and held on tight, crying again. Burt closed his eyes and buried his face in his son's shoulder, holding on just as firmly.

If they were going to get through this, it had to be together. Burt knew that. And it was important that Kurt did, too.

***

When Kurt went to bed, Burt wandered into the empty bedroom he shared with Katherine. Her clothes were scattered around the dresser, the smell of her perfume lingered, and a book lay face down on the nightstand, ready to be picked up and continued. Like she'd come home tonight. He looked away angrily.

In the bathroom, he found her razor- the one she'd cut herself with. The one that started all of this. He stared at it for a long moment, and then threw it across the room with an inarticulate shout of rage.

He sat down on the closed toilet, buried his head in his hands, and let the sobs tear out of him.

***

There was nothing, Burt fast discovered, like a medical emergency to find out who your friends were. People he barely knew brought casseroles and sent cards, people who should have cared more just expressed sympathy and not-so-obviously avoided him.

His sisters both called when they heard the news, but neither volunteered to fly out and help him. It made sense, he knew. They both had families of their own, and Liz had moved to Chillicothe and Mildred had moved to Kentucky. Andy did come out for a few weekends, once with Alyssa and twice without, and Burt appreciated it more than he could say. But for the most part, his siblings could be very little help.

His father helped, though. He came over every day to get Kurt off the bus and take care of him in the afternoons and fed him dinner. Some nights he even put him to bed because, between work and visiting Katherine, Burt didn't have much time. Burt felt guilty, but he told himself it was good for Kurt. Another man, another family member who loved him… it was good. Silver linings and all that.

Jerry at the garage covered for Burt and was always willing to swap shifts. Some people from church kept them so stocked in ziti, lasagna, and stuffed shells that Burt was pretty sure he'd never want pasta again after this. The pastor visited Katherine constantly, and kept them in the prayer circle. Burt had always gone to church more because various family members insisted, but he appreciated every last effort. But the people who helped most were the Abrams.

It was funny that only six months ago, Burt had no idea who Arthur Abrams was. It was funny that five months ago, he wasn't sure he even liked the man. Now, Arthur and Diane had a key to their place, and Kurt spent two nights a week with them. He had his own plate and cup over there, and Diane laughed when she told Burt that Artie and Kurt actually had to be separated for fighting. They were acting like brothers, she said, not just friends.

But more than that, Arthur was the one who asked about Katherine and actually listened to the answer. He was the one who gave Burt advice about how to talk to Kurt about it, the one who sat up with a beer… the one who actually gave a shit about what Burt was going through. In six months, Burt was pretty sure Arthur Abrams was the best friend he'd ever had, aside from Katherine herself. It wasn't at all what he expected when he met Arthur in the park that day, but it was that friendship that made Burt believe they were going to get through this, whatever got thrown their way.

***

The treatments were absolutely brutal. Burt had a thing against needles, and had nearly passed out the first time he saw a bone marrow biopsy needle. But Katherine just joked that she looked like a pincushion, given how badly bruised her arms were, even after they'd put in a PIC line.

They gave Katherine anti-nausea medicine and other things they said would make her feel better, but Burt didn't think they were working. And if they were… well then, he was sure glad they were giving them to her, because if she would have felt worse than _this_ , he didn't want to see it. She lost weight and lost her hair, and some days she'd even lost the color in her face and even her lips.

But today, Katherine was having a good day, and she was sitting up in bed, Kurt perched beside her.

"So," she said, spreading out the wigs from a bag that the nurses had given her, "which one?"

"I like this one," Kurt said, holding up a black one.

"That one?"

"It will make you look like Snow White."

Katherine slipped it on and looked in the mirror. "Baby, I look _dead_."

"Don't say that," Burt interrupted.

"Well, I do!" Katherine laughed. "This is not my color." She pulled the black wig off, and she was right. Even with the lack of hair, she looked more alive without the darkness draining the color from her face. She picked up one with deep, rich auburn color instead. "How about this one?" She put it on.

"Looks good," Burt offered, and it did. _Really_ good, actually.

"I don't like it," Kurt said. "You don't look like Mommy."

Katherine looked over at Burt, and he saw her waver for a moment. But then he decided he must have imagined it, because she put a hand on his cheek and very gently said, "Sweetheart, remember, we talked about this. I'm _not_ going to look like me for a bit, okay?" Kurt nodded. "So do you like the red?"

"No. Let's try the blue." Kurt picked up a tinselly blue wig and held it out hopefully.

Burt snorted. Katherine raised an eyebrow dangerously, but it wasn't his son's taste that Burt was mocking. "Come on," he dared her, "let's see it on." Katherine sighed and put the blue one on, and Kurt squealed with delight. Katherine tossed the tinsel over her shoulder. "What do you think, babe?" she asked, affecting a bad English accent and giving Burt a look that was meant to be sultry but came out looking… bizarre. Burt couldn't help it; he laughed.

"Always wanted a rock star girlfriend."

"Try this one!" Kurt ordered, bouncing on the bed and holding out a pink one. "Try this one!"

By the end, Katherine had tried on all of the wigs in the bag. Burt still really liked the auburn one, and he knew Katherine did, too, but she ended up taking one with rainbow tinsel that Kurt liked best.

"It's awful," she laughed when one of the nurses took Kurt to the station to get him a drink. "But it's so awful, it's almost fantastic."

"It's definitely bright," was Burt's contribution. He looked at her as she settled back against the pillow. "You okay? We didn't wear you out too much, did we?"

"I'm okay," Katherine said. "I'm… actually good, today." She sighed, but touched her head. "So how bad does it really look?"

"You look great," Burt told her, and honestly, he meant it. She was too think and there were shadows under her eyes and she didn't look like herself, but at the same time, that light was still in her eyes and she was still _Katherine._ That was all he needed. She smiled at him and moved aside, and he sat down on the bed next to her, arranging himself carefully so he didn't land on any of her lines. He draped his arm around her and held her close, and she cuddled against his chest. She whispered something, and he bent his head down to catch it. "What was that?"

"I miss my hair," Katherine said, and she began to cry.

It was the first time Burt had seen her cry since she began treatment. He held her close, rocking her, and wondering just how many times she'd cried when he wasn't around. God knew he'd cried more times in the past few weeks than he'd cried in his life. He knew he should do something… _say_ something… but he couldn't think of anything that would make this better. So he sat on the hospital bed and held his wife until her body stopped shaking and she lay against his chest, composing herself.

"Mommy!" Kurt was back. "Can we show the nurse your pretty new hair?"

Katherine pushed herself off Burt and wiped her cheeks. She forced a smile, but it almost looked genuine. Burt watched her in amazement. "Sure, Kurt," she said, flipping her new wig. "What do you think, Carrie?" she asked the nurse. "Is it me?"

"You're serious, right?" Carrie asked dubiously, and Katherine nodded pointedly at Kurt. Carrie looked down at his shining eyes and smiled herself. "It's pretty hot, Mrs. Hummel."

Burt had always known that his wife had a strong will. But he'd never known just how strong she was until that moment, when she shoved all her own pain aside and smiled for their son.

***

"So the CARB regulations are saying that diesel emissions have to be down to- shit, Burt. Did you see the time?"

Burt looked at his watch and blinked incredulously. "I should have been home a half hour ago," he sighed. He stood up, grabbing his jacket from the bar stool. "Don't mean to cut you off like this, Arthur, but-"

"No, no. Go get home to Kurt. Tell him that Diane's making meatballs tomorrow night, okay?" Arthur stood up. "And we'll send over some for you."

"You don't have to-" Burt began.

"She's making them anyway," Arthur pointed out. "It's no extra work."

"Thanks," Burt said. They shook hands, and Burt hurried to his car.

He should be used to this by now, Burt thought, after these few months. The Abrams had done so much to help, and they clearly didn't mind. And Burt appreciated it. But at the same time, he really didn't like having to accept help.

Of course, he didn't like a lot of things.

The lights were still on when he got home. His father must have Kurt still up. Sighing, Burt got out of the car, ready to give his dad a lecture about how Kurt had school tomorrow. But when he opened the door, he heard Kurt crying. Not just crying, but flat-out shrieking.

"Come on!" his father was shouting. "It's not that bad! Stop crying, Kurt! You don’t want people saying you're a little fag, do you?"

Burt was exhausted, but the way his father was shouting and the way he son was crying made him forget that, and he stormed into the bathroom. What he saw made him stop still. His dad was holding a washcloth to Kurt's head, and the washcloth was stained red with blood. There were two more on the floor.

"What the hell happened?" Burt demanded.

"Kid ran into a corner playing," his dad said. "If he'd just hold still, the cut would stop bleeding."

"Let me see that," Burt said, making his dad let the pressure up for a moment. Fresh blood welled up, and Burt hurriedly clamped the cloth back down onto Kurt's forehead. "Okay, buddy," he said, trying to sound calm and easy, "I think we'd better get you to the hospital."

"No!" Kurt shrieked, kicking. "I don't want to go to the hospital! I don't want shots and a pig line and my hair to fall out! NO!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Burt's father snapped. "Stop it, kid! It is NOT that bad!"

"Dad, go start the car," Burt ordered, tossing his father the keys. "You're driving. Kurt…" he knelt down in front of the terrified child. "Kurt, buddy, it's okay, all right? This is different than Mom." But no less scary. God, Burt didn't need to see that much of his child's blood- not _ever_. His stomach clenched and he gently but firmly picked Kurt up. Kurt was still struggling and crying, but he was kicking a little less. "Calm down," Burt ordered him "Calm down. It's going to be okay, all right?"

They got Kurt to the emergency room, and eventually to a doctor who gave the kid seven stitches. It must have hurt like hell, but amazingly, once the doctor injected the anesthetic, Kurt didn't fight it. He just sat there, whimpering, letting the doctor do his work.

It wasn't until Kurt was settled in a bed and Burt had pulled out a chair that he let his father's words wash over him. _You don't want people saying you're a little fag, do you?_

Burt mopped his face and closed his eyes, sick to his stomach. It was one thing to think something like that- you couldn't tell someone not to think it. It was another thing to say it. He'd have to say something to his father in the morning.

***

"Dad. About last night." Burt began firmly as his dad came into the kitchen. The muted sounds of the TV came from the other room, where Kurt was lying on the couch watching Saturday morning cartoons.

His father sighed. "Yeah. Let's talk about last night. You've really got to do something about Kurt."

"The kid needed stitches, and he's seven years old. It's all right if he cries!" Burt snapped back, already on the defensive.

His father blinked. Surprised. "That's not what I'm talking about," he said. "Well, it sort of is. But you're right; the kid gets to cry when he cuts his head that bad. Your mom always told me I wanted too much when it came to that kind of thing. So I'm sorry about losing my temper then. But I'll tell ya, the kid had me going long before that. Do you know what he was doing when he got hurt? He was running around the house in a fucking _princess dress and wings_. With a _wand._ "

"Oh." Burt forgot that that had been something he'd made sure his father had never witnessed.

"Yeah. Look, Burt. I know Kurt's a sissy, all right? And you know what? I can live with that. Those sissy kids- they can be on to something, and I know Kurt's a smart little shit. But just cause he's going to be one of them doesn't mean he has to be a fucking _fairy_ at the same time. You've got to do something about it."

"Like what?" Burt demanded. "Because if you've got any suggestions, I'm all ears!"

"I don't know! Take him to the garage! Get him around men more! Take him to church! Send him to one of those de-gaying camps! Take the dresses away and beat him if he goes near them! Do _something_!"

"You don't think I've tried some of that?" Burt demanded back, suddenly sick to his stomach. "I've tried what I can, but that's not the point, Dad. The point is-!"

"You've tried some of that?" his dad asked. "What have you tried?"

"It's not important right now, okay?" Burt snapped. "What's important is-"

"How long has this been going on, Burt?"

"What does it matter?"

His father set his drink down and narrowed his eyes. Burt rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Look, Dad-" he began, but his father cut him off.

"It's been going on a while, hasn't it?" he asked. "I should have known. Every time I'm over here, Kurt has these toys out that… but I always figured that was Katherine's fault. All her talk about 'gender bias' and 'women's rights' and all that stuff. I thought it was just her. But it's not, is it? It's Kurt himself."

Shame washed over him. For a moment, he felt like a complete failure as his father glared at him, like it was _his_ fault Kurt was the way he was. And maybe it was- what did he know about this stuff?

Except the thing was, Kurt was his kid. His seven year old kid. And that stirred something deep in him, because he was _Kurt_.

Burt closed his eyes. "Dad," he said, forcing calm, because this _was_ his father, "let's talk about this later."

"Fine." His father picked up his keys. "We'll talk about it later. But don't close your eyes to this one, Burt. Kurt's not right, and you've gotta do something to make sure that he turns out okay." His father gestured with his keys meaningfully, and then left.

Burt let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His shoulders were sore, and he realized he was shaking. Not from fear, though. Anger.

 _Take the dresses away and beat him if he goes near them._ Burt was sure he was going to be sick.

He took another deep breath, reminded himself that this was his _father_ , and went back out to the living room. "Hey buddy," he said to Kurt. "Can I join you?" Kurt immediately made room, and then as Burt sat down, leaned against him. They watched the TV in silence, but it felt like Kurt was trying to burrow as deeply into Burt as possible. Rough few days for the kid.

Kurt didn't say anything until a few commercials later. "Daddy? What's a fag?"

For a long moment, Burt couldn't breathe. Literally could not breathe. Nothing would work, not his limbs, not his lungs, not his eyes. He sat frozen, and it all came crashing down on him.

 _What's a fag?_ Kurt was a smart kid. Hell, Kurt had _ears_. He knew what he'd heard.

He tightened his arm around his son. Kurt didn't look up at him. He stared ahead at the TV, but when Burt leaned down to get a better look at his face, he could see that Kurt was trying not to cry. And yet, the words just wouldn't come, because how did you explain this to a child? How did you say it?

"It's a bad word," he finally said.

"Why would Grandpa call me a bad word?" Kurt asked.

"Because… because he was frustrated," Burt finally decided. "Grandpa's not used to having kids around, and he lost his temper. He's worried, and Grandpa has some problems, and…." And none of that was right, and Burt _knew_ it.

He'd lied to Kurt before. Almost every parent did. They told their children about Santa Claus and the tooth fairy, that cat or bird or squirrel was just sleeping, or no, the lion didn't catch the gazelle and eat it. Every lie he'd ever told Kurt was to protect him, but they'd never laid heavy on his conscience. This one did. This one made him hate himself, because….

Because maybe he shouldn't have to lie to Kurt. What was worse? Kurt knowing his grandfather was hating what he was, or Kurt knowing that Burt wouldn't stand up for him?

He tightened his arms around Kurt until Kurt yelped and squirmed a little to get free, and then buried his face in Kurt's hair. He should have done more. This was his _kid._

Next time his father said something like that, Burt was going to let him have it.

***

"Next time?" Katherine demanded. "Why are you waiting for next time? Call him up! Tell him this is not acceptable!"

It was amazing that, even sitting in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of her and no hair, Katherine could be completely terrifying. Burt stood his ground. "It's my _father_ , Katherine. Not some guy out in the street."

"So?"

"So, it's my _father!_ What do you want me to do?"

"Tell him that he can't talk to our son like that, and if he ever does it again, he won't be seeing Kurt again!"

That thought _burned_. "Look," Burt fired back, unable to believe he was talking to her like this right _now_ , "I know your father doesn't mean shit to you anymore, but it's different for me, okay? It's my dad, and yeah, we might not always be that close, but that means something!"

"And Kurt?" she demanded archly.

"Did I say anything about not protecting Kurt?" Burt asked. "Because you'd better believe I'm gonna protect Kurt. But it's my father, and there's a lot of ground between cutting him off and letting him walk all over me!"

"Not when it threatens Kurt! Look, Burt, I need to know that if anything happens to me-"

"No," Burt said, shaking his head angrily. "Don't say it."

"I _have_ to say it," Katherine ground out. "I'm sitting in a hospital bed with stage three leukemia. I need to know that if I don't make it, if anything happens to me… I need to know that Kurt is safe. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally."

"You think I wouldn't keep our kid safe?" Burt nearly shouted. "You think I'd let anyone hurt him?"

Katherine closed her eyes and laid back against the pillow. "You've come a long way, she admitted. "And I don't think you think you would," she said finally. "But…."

"But?" Burt demanded.

She looked so pale. So tired. It took a lot of the heat out of his argument, looking at her, even if he was still angry. "I thought I'd be there," Katherine said, not opening her eyes. "I thought… I thought we'd be doing this together. We've always been such a good team, and between us-"

"Hey. We're still doing this together," Burt said, picking up her hand. "You're gonna make it through this."

She shook her head. "I don't know, Burt," she said, and her voice cracked. "I don't know anymore. I talked to Dr. Rosenbaum today."

His blood chilled. "What did she say?"

"It's not in remission."

"Fuck." He gathered her hand up in both of his. "Katherine…."

She opened her eyes. "Burt. I need to know. I can't go through this again and not know that if something happens to me, you'll fight for Kurt. Against _anybody._ "

There were arguments he could make and cases he could point out. Parts of his mind begged to do just that. But at the same time, this was what life was about. Him, Katherine, and Kurt, against all comers. So instead of arguing, he squeezed her hand.

"I promise."

***

No remission. Burt hadn't realized how much he'd just _assumed_ Katherine would go into remission until they got the news that the chemo hadn't worked, at least not fully.

Everything changed. Everything became more desperate, more gray and gritty. Katherine didn't wear that shiny rainbow wig anymore, not unless Kurt begged her to put it on. She looked worse and worse. And the house felt quieter and quieter.

The phone didn't ring as much anymore, and there were fewer cards and meals. People… stopped caring. They had their own lives, Burt realized, and their own troubles. And as Katherine's illness lingered, it just became background.

It became routine for them, too. Burt was afraid to leave Kurt home with his father so much, and so on days that Kurt didn't go to the Abrams' after school, Burt brought him to the hospital. The hard part was explaining to his father. He couldn't bring himself to give the real reason, not yet, and instead told him that he wanted Kurt to have as much time with Katherine as possible. Unfortunately, that reason was real, too.

He and Kurt haunted the hospital wing. And it was bad. He began to realize just how bad it was when the nurses routinely ignored visiting hours for them, as long as they were quiet and didn't disturb anyone. The doctors threw medical terms and long words at him, but what he really understood was the sympathy on the nurses' faces and the way they treated him and Kurt. It was clear in their demeanor long before the doctors said anything.

And yet, Katherine was… Katherine. Burt felt like there were two of her; the Katherine he saw when he was alone with her, and the one that smiled and laughed for Kurt. Once he went down the hall to get a soda, and lingered to talk to one of the orderlies. When he came back, Kurt was sitting on Katherine's bed and they were singing together. Burt leaned against the doorjamb, watching as they sang "Edelweiss" together, Katherine showing Kurt a simple hand motion to go with the song. The look on her face… the joy on Kurt's… he knew it was a moment he would remember the rest of his life.

***

Burt had collapsed on the couch and turned on some cop show on TV when the phone rang. At 10:12 at night. He froze, and then dove for it, because people only called at this hour for…

"Hello?"

"Burt?"

"Arthur." Relief washed over him. It wasn't Katherine. Katherine was all right. It took a minute for his breathing to even out. "What's up?" he said, slouching back down on the couch.

There was a small, strangled noise on the other end of the line. "There was a car accident," Arthur said.

"Everyone all right?"

Silence.

Burt sat up fully, nervous again. "Arthur?"

"Diane was driving. She's… okay. Cuts and bruises, but nothing more. I wasn't in the car."

"Artie?"

More silence.

"Oh, no, Arthur…. He's not-"

"No. But he's in a coma, and they don’t know…" Arthur broke off.

"Oh, God." Burt wiped a hand over his face. "Oh, God, Arthur… I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?"

"No." Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm at the hospital tonight, and… No."

"Let me know, all right?" Burt urged.

"I will," Arthur promised. "I have to go. He might wake up…."

"Good luck, Arthur."

"Thanks." The phone clicked silent, and then there was the dial tone. Burt set his own phone down in the receiver gently, and then closed his eyes.

 _Fuck._

***

Before he went to see Katherine, he stopped over in the ICU. Arthur was standing at the window of a room, clothes rumpled and face lined, looking in anxiously. "Any change?" Burt asked.

Arthur shook his head, and Burt joined him at the window. Artie was dwarfed in the bed, eyes closed, glasses nowhere to be seen. There were bandages on his head and one arm, a respirator down his throat, and beeping machines. Diane sat by the bed, Artie's hand in hers, a tissue clutched in the other.

 _He looks so small_. It was every parent's nightmare, and Burt's worst. The sight broke his heart, and he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

But there was nothing more to say.

***

"Where's Kurt today?" Katherine asked. She didn't even try to sit up. "The Abrams?"

"No." Burt pulled the chair over and sat down beside her bed. "Jerry's got him down at the garage."

"Jerry? What's going on?"

Burt caught Katherine's hand and held it. "I have to tell you something," he said. "A few things."

"All right." He could see Katherine's confusion.

"That night. Two years ago. When you left me." Burt swallowed hard, because that memory had been with him all night and it still hurt. "I said that it would be easier to deal with Kurt having cancer instead of him being gay. I get why that was wrong now."

Katherine's eyes opened wider in surprise.

"Funny, isn't it?" Burt asked, even though it was anything but. "I've been watching you go through all this, and it didn't really sink in. Not like that. But now… I get it. Because Kurt being gay… it's not like he's gonna die." He closed his eyes in frustration. "No. Not just that. Kurt being gay…. I don't like it. But I don't have to go to sleep every night wondering if he'll be there the next morning. I don't have to stand over his bed and offer to trade my life for his. I don't have to…" he broke down, because he could _see_ Arthur helplessly watching Artie and not being able to do a damn thing and had he _really_ ever wished that that had been him? That Kurt had been in a bed like that, instead of alive and whole and joyful and with a future? "I get it, and I'm sorry."

Katherine smiled. "I know." Her smile faded. "What's brought all this on?"

"That's the other thing I have to tell you," Burt said, and his hand tightened on hers, and he began to tell her about the Abrams and the accident.

***

Burt didn't tell Kurt about Artie until three days later, when he got the call that Artie had woken up from his coma. But his spine was severely damaged, and they didn't know the extent of it yet. Kurt took the news very quietly… too quietly. It was worrying, but at the same time, Burt didn't know what else to do.

The truth was, there wasn't a lot of time or energy to worry about it. The weather was getting colder, so business was picking up at the garage as people were coming in for snow tires. He had to find new arrangements for Kurt because the Abrams couldn't take him. There was the house, the laundry, the lawn and the leaves, the oil to be changed and Kurt had a piano recital and there was homework and doctors appointments and everything else that just went with living. And worse, Katherine had developed an infection.

He met Arthur in the hospital cafeteria. They sat at a table in the corner, shoulders hunched, cups of bad coffee between them.

They tried to talk in brief spurts of conversation, but it was stilted and they always fell back into silence. It wasn't because there was nothing to say, but because all the things that were there were too painful for them to speak of. So they eventually subsided into silence, only able to give each other the comfort of their presence.

***

It was 10:36 on a sunny November morning when the phone rang at the garage.

"Mr. Hummel?" the voice said. "You and your son need to come down right away. It's time."

Burt dropped the phone.

***

Katherine died at 12:14. Burt was holding one hand, Kurt was holding the other. She hadn't looked like herself. The infection had left her body swollen and blue, she hadn't had hair, and there was a ventilator tube down her throat. But the last thing, the very last moment before she died, Burt was positive he saw her lips form the words _I love you both_ around the ventilator.

Later, much later, Kurt told him that he saw it, too.

***

The next few days were a blur of arrangements and loss. Burt didn't feel real, and he was glad, because when he did feel real, all he could feel was pain. Blinding agony, like a physical amputation of himself.

He slept on the couch, because he couldn't sleep in their room. Not with her clothes still scattered on the floor and her perfume still on the dresser and her toothbrush still in the holder and that book still open face down, all like she would ever come home again. He ordered takeout, because her spirit lingered over the pots and the pans and even the refrigerator. Her car sat undriven in the garage, her voice was still on the answering machine, her purse still sat by the door. Her keys, her license, her makeup, strands of her hair on the pillow or on the carpet… the entire house was a reminder of her.

And then there was Kurt.

God, how did you deal with a child whose mother was never coming home? Burt wanted nothing more than to take Kurt in his arms and tell him this was a bad dream and they'd see Mommy again someday, but he knew the cruelest thing he could do was lie to the kid. He sat for hours just holding Kurt, letting him cry, letting him be cradled in his arms. Kurt didn't talk, didn't sing, didn't… anything. He just sat in Burt's arms, holding on. And Burt held on to him.

His sisters came down for the funeral, silent and sympathetic. Andy and Alyssa came out as well, and they were a world of support. Some part of Burt was aware that Alyssa fell in love with Kurt and bonded fairly well with him, but all he could really process was that Kurt was cared for. Andy handled a lot of the legal aspects and the finances, kept lists, and organized everything to a degree Burt hadn't known his younger brother was capable of.

But it was his father who pulled him through. His father took him to the same funeral home he'd used when Burt's mother died and guided him through the process. He didn't say much, but Burt could feel that common bond. They were both widowers now, and his father had been where Burt was standing right now.

The wake was a nightmare. So many people… too many. Burt stared at them all, uncomprehending. A lot of faces he knew – friends, neighbors, people from church, family – but a lot he didn't. Teachers from Katherine's school, and parents of her former students. Parents of kids that were in Kurt's class. Family of Katherine, whom Burt had never met but Andy had sent a short, terse message to. Not her parents, but a few cousins. Friends of hers from high school and college. So many people.

He sat with his father in the living room that night, and his father poured them both a drink. "You'll miss her," his father said, handing Burt a glass full of whiskey.

Burt sipped it. It was strong and it burned, and he welcomed the fire of it. "You didn't like her," he said, half as a statement and half as a question.

His father shrugged. "Not really. But you did. That's really all that matters right now."

"What am I going to do without her?" Burt asked, the words ripping out from him.

"You're going to go on," his father said flatly. "You won't want to, but you will. And after a while… you get used to it."

Burt looked at his father, slumped in the armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. "Does it get easier?"

"No. You just get used to it. That's all."

He wished he could say more, so much more. But his father wasn't the kind of person you poured your heart out to, and Burt wasn't really the kind of person to pour his heart out. Not like that. But just having his father here, having him close… it helped. It helped so much.

They sat together in the dim light of the living room, drinks in hand and sharing their grief.

***

The funeral wasn't a blur. Burt was aware of everything; the stark bare branches of the trees against the bright blue sky, the crisp wind, the smell of the frost on the browning grass. The casket, covered in flowers and perched over an open grave up on a hill. The minister standing by the grave, an open Bible and the sound of his voice. And Kurt next to him, his little body pressed against Burt, shaking as they both watched.

When they lowered the casket into the ground, Burt reached down and took Kurt's hand. His hand was so small in his, the skin soft and cold. Burt looked down, and saw Kurt looking up at him.

The look on Kurt's face shook him to his core.

There was sadness of course… deep sadness and pain. Kurt and Katherine had been close and he was already missing her so much. But more than that, there was trust. Complete and utter trust, that even though Kurt had just been shown that he could lose so much, Burt would always be there. Burt squeezed his hand tightly.

 _I'll always be here_ , he promised Kurt silently. _As long as God lets me, I'll be here._

The casket was in the grave. The minister nodded, and Burt knelt down to pick up one of the clods to through on the coffin. The sound of the clump of sod and dirt landing was the most terrible, final sound he had ever heard. He winced, and he saw Kurt wince, too. But to Burt's surprise, Kurt followed his lead, and threw his clod in as well.

But they never let go of each other's hand.

***

Arthur had come to the funeral, and was standing by the limo waiting as Burt and Kurt approached. They faced each other awkwardly for a moment, and then Arthur reached out and hugged Burt. It was strange and foreign- they had never hugged before- but some part of Burt was grateful for the connection.

"I'm sorry, Burt," Arthur said when he pulled away. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you." Burt swallowed. "How's Artie?"

Athur looked away, hands in pockets. "Stable," he said. "They're going to try some surgery to his spinal chord tomorrow. But…."

"Is there anything we can do?" Burt asked.

Arthur laughed hollowly. "I think you've got enough on your plate right now."

"I know. I just wish…."

"Yeah. I know." Arthur reached across the distance and hugged Burt again, and then reached down and hugged Kurt. "I can't stay for after," he said. "I need to get back to the hospital. But take care and… I just… I'm sorry."

"Keep us posted," Burt said. Arthur smiled briefly, and then turned and walked towards his car, past the headstones and under the trees.

Burt looked up at the sky. "You've really got a vendetta against Lima today, don't you?" he muttered. Then he shook his head and took Kurt's hand. There was still a long day ahead.

***

"Daddy?"

Burt paused in tucking Kurt in. "What is it, kiddo?"

"What happens tomorrow?"

Burt sighed. "Uncle Andy and Aunt Alyssa are going home, and I guess… I guess it's just you and me." He'd decided he and Kurt were both going to take a couple weeks off from work and school, just to get themselves together.

"Will Grandpa be over?"

"No. I think it's just going to be us tomorrow."

"Good." Kurt snuggled closer.

He should ask why Kurt didn't want Burt's father around, but the truth was, he was just tired. And Kurt looked… safe. He didn't look _happy_ , of course, but he looked _safe._ Not like he was upset or anything. Burt just sighed.

"Get some sleep, buddy," he said, kissing Kurt's forehead. "We've got one hell of a day tomorrow."

***

As much as Burt didn't want it to, life went on. Hours turned to days and days turned to weeks. He went back to work and Kurt went back to school. The house was quieter, but they began fumbling for their own rhythm. They _had_ to, Burt realized. They didn't have a choice.

In the four months that Katherine had been in the hospital, Burt had only done what he needed to do to keep the house running. He hadn't really realized it, but now that he knew she was _gone_ , it sunk in. And there was a lot that needed to be done. He'd done dishes and laundry and changed sheets and towels, but the bathrooms hadn't been scrubbed down in four months, the floors hadn't been mopped or vacuumed, the refrigerator hadn't been really cleaned out. All those things he never really thought of.

And then there was food. All while Katherine was sick, people had brought them food. If there was no food in the freezer or the fridge, Burt had ordered takeout or made pasta. But he was bringing up a _kid_. Kurt couldn't live off pasta and stuff from the grill. So Burt, after a painful hour in a bookstore and a quick consultation with a staff member, bought the _Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook_ and resigned himself to learning to cook. In some ways, it was a lot easier than he'd ever thought it would be, and soon enough he was at least able to put something edible on the table for himself and Kurt.

In fact, he felt a strange sort of pride when his father came over for dinner on Christmas . The house was gleaming, the tree was up, and Burt was pulling a roast beef that actually looked edible out of the oven. But his father just raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything.

Burt was not going to admit, even to himself, that that stung a little.

The day after Christmas, Burt decided it was time that Kurt went to see Artie. He bundled Kurt up in his new coat and a hat that looked more like a bonnet and drove them to the hospital. But when they got there and Burt turned around, Kurt was frozen in the back seat.

"No," Kurt said. "I don't want to go in there."

"We're coming to see Artie," Burt pushed. "Don't you miss him?"

But all of the color was out of Kurt's face and he was shaking. "No! I don’t want to go in! I don't want to!"

Burt didn't know a lot about child psychology, but it didn't take a shrink to see what Kurt's problem was. And to be honest, Burt hadn't been thrilled about going into that hospital yet, anyway. He sighed and got back in the car.

"Okay," he said, giving in. "We'll go back home."

***

"I'm really sorry, Arthur," Burt told him over the phone that night. "But he really was freaked out."

"It's all right, Burt," Arthur said. He sounded tired. "Probably for the better, actually. We told Artie Kurt was coming, and he started acting up, too. He doesn't… I think he feels strange, being in that wheelchair. And he and Kurt played together so much…."

"Yeah. I get that." It was sad, but Burt could see where the poor kid was coming from. "How much longer are they keeping him there?"

"He's actually moving to a rehab center in a couple of days," Arthur said. "It's in Cincinnati."

"You're kidding."

"No. I got family medical leave, so I'm going to go down there with him. I think we're going to be there for a while."

"Maybe we can get the boys together when you get back then," Burt suggested. It would be better. It would be easier on Kurt, and probably easier on Artie, too.

"Maybe." Arthur sounded as worn down as Burt felt. "Anyway, take care, will you, Burt? I think I'll be out of touch a bit, and I'm sorry it's coming now, but-"

"No. Take care of your kid. It's the best you can do for him right now."

"Yeah. You, too."

He wasn't sentimental, Burt told himself as he hung up the phone. But he really wished they could have said that goodbye in person.

***

The days dragged out in the winter gloom, and Katherine haunted Burt's memories. He felt like she wasn't really gone, and that this was all a bad dream. Or that if he just… if he just could convince himself fully, if he could just have that faith everyone talked about and _believe_ hard enough, somehow a miracle would happen and Katherine would come walking through the door, her blonde hair swinging and her laugh ringing.

Needless to say, that didn't happen.

He thought about her spirit watching them. Watching, but not able to touch, not able to be there. For him, that would be the worst kind of hell, to be kept away from his family like that. But when they'd talked about it, Katherine said that was her idea of Heaven. To always be with them, even when she couldn't.

She'd told him she wanted him to marry again some day if the worst happened. Burt remembered those words a lot in those bitter cold days. Not because he had the first interest in finding another wife, but because he never would have been able to say those words. To know that her family would go on without her, to give them her blessing, to give them _peace_ …. He wasn't capable of that kind of strength.

He wasn't capable of a lot of things Katherine did. At least, he didn't think so.

"You know," Andy said once, when Burt mentioned something completely irrelevant to him, "Kurt really takes after Katherine."

Once, Burt would have been mildly insulted at that. Now, he just smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Lucky for him, he does."

But as the months went by, he and Kurt learned to accept that Katherine wasn't coming home. That no matter how strong she'd been, she'd been defeated, and now it was just the two of them, together. Kurt became Burt's shadow, and Burt was glad of it.

After all, this was how things were going to be from now on.


	3. 'Til We're Both on the Same Damn Side

"No."

"Come on, Dad. It suits me better than that nylon… jacket, I guess? If you can call it that?" Kurt twirled in front of the mirror, obviously pleased with his reflection.

Burt flicked the price tag dangling off the cuff with his fingers. "It's two hundred and fifty dollars, kiddo. _No._ "

"It's a jacket, though," Kurt wheedled. "I'll wear it every day."

"I don't care if you never take it off, I'm not buying a twelve year old kid a two hundred dollar jacket," Burt said. "And that's final."

Kurt glared at him. "Fine," he huffed and shrugged the jacket off as Burt resisted the urge to throttle his own son. Was he this obnoxious as a teenager? If so, his mother deserved sainthood.

Resigned to not getting the jacket, Kurt rearranged it on a hanger and put it back, and then went back to pawing through the sales racks. Burt had tried pointing out that if they went to Target or even Penney's, Kurt wouldn't have to resort to what he called "pawing through castoffs." But Kurt, who used to only be particular about his clothing and that it was fancy, was now developing what he called "taste" and what Burt called "being a fucking snob."

Not for the first time, Burt wished like hell Katherine was still around to deal with this.

He followed Kurt from rack to rack, making faces at the clothing. This store was nothing like the ones he went into for himself, and to be honest, the high and mighty way the salespeople looked at him annoyed him. Kurt, however, seemed to ignore it and hold his head high as he investigated the clothes, prowling like he actually knew about these fancy labels and designers and whatever.

After another half hour, Kurt sighed. "I'm still not seeing anything," he complained, and then made a face. "Dad? How much are you willing to pay?"

Burt shrugged. "Fifty, seventy-five. You can get a great jacket for that. Something nice and warm."

Kurt looked up at the ceiling, and Burt had the feeling he was doing some calculating as his lips moved silently. "All right," Kurt finally said. "How about this? You pay what you'd pay for a jacket, and I'll use what I've got saved for the rest."

"How much have you got?"

"One hundred."

"That's a hundred and seventy-five," Burt said. "Jacket's two-fifty. I know math's not your strongest subject, but you know better than that."

"I know," Kurt said disdainfully. "I was getting there. What if I work in the garage to make up the rest?"

Burt laughed. "If I paid you minimum wage, you'd have to work over ten hours just to make enough for that jacket."

"That's a weekend," Kurt said. "I'll work the weekend. _Please_ , Dad?"

Oh, shit. There were the eyes. The begging eyes that Kurt had honed to an art. Burt was never, ever going to tell his son this, but he was powerless against those eyes. Besides, the kid was offering to use his own money _and_ work for the jacket. That was a good lesson, right? Right.

"All right," Burt sighed, giving in. "We'll get you the jacket."

Kurt squealed- outright _squealed_. "Thank you, Dad!" he shouted, standing up on his tiptoes and throwing his arms around Burt's neck. Burt patted him awkwardly on the back, half wishing he'd get off and let go, and half wishing that he could keep his kid a little boy forever.

The rest of the back-to-school shopping trip was fairly painless. Jeans were jeans, and aside from trying to figure out how much Kurt had grown (not as much as Burt thought he would have), it wasn't that hard, even if Kurt took forever choosing colors. Shoes were shoes. And Kurt must have sensed that his father's patience (and wallet) had their limits, because he showed some restraint in getting sweaters and shirts, although Burt noticed none of them were t-shirts or flannel. He'd long since learned not to comment on that, though.

But as they were leaving the mall, they passed the newsstand. He saw Kurt eyeing the magazines. "You need something?"

Kurt flushed. _Flushed_. "I can… no."

"You've got money if you want it," Burt pointed out.

Kurt looked up at him, weighing him with his glance. As if to make a point, Burt picked up a copy of a _Sports Illustrated_ and tossed it on the counter and then dug out his money. He paid the cashier, and then looked at Kurt. "You ready?"

Kurt hesitated, and then darted over to the magazines. And Burt wasn't at all surprised when his son pulled _Vanity Fair_ off the shelves. Not that he knew the specifics about _Vanity Fair_ , and it sure as hell wasn't the kind of magazine Katherine ever read, but he knew that it was a girls' magazine, and that was all he needed to know.

Burt shrugged and looked away. He didn't know why this was bothering him now; he thought he was doing a lot better with all this stuff. But right now, he felt like he would have been less embarrassed if he'd bought his kid a _Playboy_ or a _Penthouse_. And judging from the bright red blush all over Kurt's face, he felt the same.

***

"Hand me the 5/16ths socket, will ya, Kurt?" Burt asked.

Kurt leaned over and grabbed the right wrench, and then went back to the headlight he was changing. Burt watched him for a moment. Kurt's face was furrowed in concentration, and Burt couldn't blame him. Headlights were one of those things that went in on the first try or were a bitch to change.

"So," he said finally, turning his own attention back to the radiator he was repairing, "you going to go out for any teams this year?"

"There's not much in junior high, Dad."

"There's football," Burt suggested. "It's just club, but-"

"Dad…."

"Right. Not football." Burt shook his head. "Well, what about soccer? Or swimming or cross-country?" Now that he thought of it, he could see Kurt as a cross-country runner. It wasn't a sport like Burt ever would have done, but it was _something_ , and it would give Kurt some sort of group. Some sort of _team_.

But Kurt just shook his head. "I don't really want to," he said. He hesitated. "Is that okay?"

What could he say? Burt shrugged. "All right. You want to keep up with piano still this year?"

"Definitely," Kurt said immediately.

"Okay. What about another instrument? Maybe join the band?"

Kurt shook his head. "Piano's fine. And maybe I could keep working here some?"

"Really?" Burt looked around the garage. "Doesn't really seem like your kind of thing."

"I know." Kurt smiled impishly. "But I like the money."

Burt couldn't help laughing at that one. "I'll think about it, okay? The guys might have something to say about it." They wouldn't. Not much, anyway- that was what happened when you were the owner. "But what about… I don't know. What do kids your age do, anyway?"

Kurt just shrugged and went back to the headlight.

Burt sighed. Something was bothering Kurt; it didn't take a genius to see that. Burt had his suspicions, but he wasn't sure on the specifics. And Kurt wasn't talking, and Burt didn't know how to make him open up.

For a few years after Katherine had died (God, it still _hurt_ just to think those words), things had been a lot easier between them. Both of them were grief-stricken and lonely, and Kurt had let Burt into his private little world. And Burt, anxious that he'd lose the one person who meant more to him than anyone left living, and been more than happy to come in. It wasn't his thing- there were tea parties and clothes and make-believe and music- but it was Kurt's, and it made him happy to share it. And the look of joy on his son's face had made everything worth it.

But in the past year or so, it started getting harder again. Kurt was withdrawing into a moody, grumpy, snappish… well, _preteen._ On an intellectual level, Burt knew that this was completely normal. On an emotional level, he was hurt. Kurt started closing doors and shutting him out again, and Burt didn't know what to do in order to keep his son. All he could think to do was give Kurt space.

That was why the idea of Kurt working at the garage appealed to him, he knew that. They were so different, and without Katherine there to serve as a translator, talking was difficult. But here in the garage, they didn't even have to talk. They were at least together, and it was of Kurt's own free will.

At least it was something. And Burt suspected he'd better be grateful for that much.

***

"We'd better hurry and get home," Burt shouted to Kurt as they put the grocery bags in the trunk. "I think this snow is going to start sticking."

Kurt nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but then realized that a car was behind him and trying to get into the space next to them. He scurried out of the way. Burt barely glanced up, going back to the cart for another two bags.

"Burt? Is that you?"

The voice was familiar. Burt looked up and spotted Arthur Abrams, who had just gotten out of the van that had parked next to them. "What do you know?" he said, pleasantly surprised. "How are you, Arthur?"

"Can't complain," Arthur said. He still had all his hair, Burt noticed, but it was grayer than it used to be. He had gained a little weight and grown a mustache, but otherwise he looked the same as Burt remembered. He flipped open the door of the van, and a motor started. To Burt's mild surprise, Artie wheeled his way to the platform and then out.

"Artie," Arthur said, "you remember Mr. Hummel?"

"Of course," Artie said politely. He glanced at Kurt. "Hey Kurt."

"Hey," Kurt mumbled back. Burt couldn't help noticing that both boys seemed shy and awkward around each other.

"How have you been, Burt?" Arthur asked.

"Good. Good. Garage is doing well, and… yeah. Good."

Arthur smiled. "I can't believe how tall Kurt's gotten," he said.

"Artie's really grown, too." Burt was pleased to see Artie and Kurt roll their eyes at each other in silent commiseration. "What have you been up to, Artie?"

"Just school. And… stuff."

"He's in the AV club," Arthur said proudly, and Burt stifled a smile. Some things never changed. "And all of the honors science and math classes. He's doing great, aren't you, Artie?"

"I guess." Artie looked sheepish, but at the same time, he looked pleased. Arthur was about bursting. Of course he was, Burt realized. Wheelchair or not, this was the life he'd always wanted for Artie.

"Following in your dad's footsteps, huh?" Burt said, and then realized that might not be the most sensitive way to put it. But Artie's smile widened, and so did Arthur's.

"What about you, Kurt?" Arthur asked. "What are you up to these days?"

Kurt shrugged. "Taking French," he said. "And still playing the piano."

"He works in the garage with me, too," Burt volunteered quickly. For some reason, Kurt made a face at that. Arthur didn't seem to notice, but a gust of wind got them all shivering.

"I'd love to stay and catch up," Arthur said, "but I'd better let you guys go so you don't get stuck out on the roads. And Diane will kill us if we don't come home with the milk."

"Right," Burt said. "Maybe we can get together some time for a drink."

"Maybe," Arthur agreed. He extended his hand. "Good to see you again, Burt."

"Good to see you, too," Burt said, and he watched them go. Artie pushed the wheels on the chair himself, but Arthur's hand was on his son's shoulder. For a moment, broken back and all, Burt envied them. It looked so _easy_ , so much in common.

"You and Artie ever hang out at all?" he asked Kurt as he navigated the streets home.

"No," Kurt said shortly. "We're not in the same classes."

"You guys used to be best buds," Burt said.

Kurt shrugged. The thing was, these days, Burt could see where the common ground just wasn't there anymore. He sighed. Too bad the boys had missed their chance.

"You got any friends at school?" he asked Kurt. "I haven't seen anyone over in a long time."

"It's a lot of morons at school," Kurt said, and didn't elaborate.

"Great attitude, kiddo."

Kurt just shrugged. Burt gave up conversation as a lost cause and focused on the roads. He wished he could believe a drink with Arthur would materialize. But too much water under the bridge, too busy a season, leaving Kurt on his own… it wouldn't happen. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, and wondered if Arthur ever had this much trouble getting a conversation going with Artie.

Probably not, he decided. Just another thing he was doing wrong these days.

***

"So how's Kurt?" Andy asked him over the phone.

"I'm telling you, this is one of the worst parts of being a parent," Burt complained. "The 'dad, go off and _die_ somewhere' attitude."

"Oh, like we didn't do the same thing to our parents," Andy laughed.

"I'm going to remind you of that when Mandy doesn't want to be seen anywhere near you and makes you drop her off three blocks away from the movie theater," Burt threatened. "She's two now, but when she's older…."

Andy laughed, but as his laughter faded, it felt a little awkward. Burt picked up a sponge and began to wipe down the kitchen counter.

"Can I ask you something, Burt?"

"Can't stop you," Burt said.

"Have you… have you talked to him about boys?"

Burt froze. "What do you mean?"

Andy sighed. "Look, I don't mean to tell you how to parent, but you've gotta admit… Kurt's kind of… fruity."

Burt didn't answer.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Andy said hastily. "I mean, it's 2005, right? I get it, and if your kid's gay, your kid's gay. But… have to talked to him?"

"How do you know my kid's gay?" Burt heard himself saying.

Andy laughed. "Jesus, Burt, we all know. We've known for ages. Millie's taken to calling Kurt her niece, and-"

"Hey, wait! He's still a boy!"

"It's just a joke. Don't take anything Mildred says too seriously. She's back on the bottle." The humor left Andy's voice. "Did Liz tell you?"

"When do I talk to Liz?" Burt muttered. "She calls me at Christmas and Easter."

"Yeah, well… you know Liz."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Burt finally stopped wiping the counter. "Andy?"

"Liz is religious," Andy said simply. "You know that. And she thinks that Kurt…." When Burt didn't say anything, Andy just sighed. "Come on. It's not like this family was ever all that close anyway."

"Tell me something. Just how much has everyone been talking about me and Kurt behind my back?"

"I just told you Millie's back on the bottle," Andy pointed out dryly. "What do you think?"

"Right." Burt suddenly felt very tired. "Right."

"Everyone's just worried, Burt. We all just want Kurt to be okay."

"Thanks, but I think we're fine," Burt said sarcastically.

"Burt, you don't have to-"

"We're _fine_ , okay? Kurt is _my_ kid, damn it, and I've been handling this for a long time before anyone decided to notice. You think I don't know what my own kid is? I know, all right? And you know what? I'm dealing with that. If that's what Kurt's gonna be, that's what Kurt's gonna be, and he is still my damn kid, all right? So you tell Mildred and Liz and anyone else who wants to know to back the _fuck_ off and leave us the hell alone!"

He debated slamming down the phone, but something stopped him. On the other end, Andy was silent, too. Maybe it was the silence that kept him hanging on, he didn't know. But his heart was pounding and his breathing was shallow, and he was tense until Andy spoke.

"I've gotta say, Burt, you just shocked the hell out of me." Andy was _laughing._ "I really thought… I didn't think you'd handle it this well."

Burt grunted. Andy actually sounded _pleased_. It was such a strange feeling, that someone in the family was even approaching okay with this. "It hasn't come easy," he admitted.

"But still. Wow." But soon the good cheer disappeared. "Just, Burt… I know it's not my place, and you're probably already talking to him about it. But just… see if you can get him to act, you know… more… _normal_. Just… I've read the papers and everything, and believe me, I remember what kind of town Lima is." Contempt dripped from his brother's voice. "Kurt would do a lot better- no, be a lot _safer_ \- if he would just blend in."

"Yeah. I know." Burt sighed heavily. Because he _did_ know. But at the same time, Kurt was _twelve_. He had a mind of his own. "And again, I say you come tell me how to do it when Mandy's a teenager."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind." Andy relaxed again. "I guess I should thank you and Kurt for all this. If nothing else, it's gotten Dad off my back for being the disappointment."

"You're welcome," Burt said dryly.

"Hey. After thirty-six years, I think I'm entitled," Andy said happily. "Anyway, Alyssa's calling me. I'd better get going. Take care."

"You too."

Andy hung up and the dial tone exploded in Burt's ear. He stood still, listening to the tone until it became the broken, annoying sound of a phone off the hook. He sighed and replaced the receiver, and then sat down at the table, cradling his forehead in his hands.

***

The doorbell rang, and the music didn’t stop. Burt rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to go back and stop Kurt from playing the piano. He just went and let his father in.

His father raised his eyebrows as he heard the music. "Kurt?"

"Yeah."

"He sounds… good."

It should be a compliment, but it sounded too cautious. Too careful. Burt sighed. "Come on in, Dad," he said.

They eventually settled in the kitchen at the small table. The strains of music drifted in, not so smooth now, repetitive and flawed. A bit that Kurt was having trouble with, but was determined to get. His father made a face, but Burt glared and he didn't say anything.

"Talked to Andy the other night," Burt finally said.

"How's he doing?"

"You haven't talked to him recently?"

"He's out living his fancy life in Pennsylvania," his father said. "How often does he bother to call home to us?"

"Right." Burt had always known his father felt that way, but he'd never really given the matter much thought. But after their conversation the other night, Burt was thinking about it. "Dad? Did you ever want any of us to go into the Army?"

His father eyed him. "The Army? What makes you ask that?"

Burt shrugged. "Well, you were-"

"I wasn't there cause I wanted to be."

In all his years, that had never occurred to Burt. He stared wordlessly at his father.

His father wasn't watching Burt's reaction, though. He was staring into his drink. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. You were just a toddler when I got the notice. Millie remembers, though. I know that. Didn't want to go. But that's what you did when you got a draft notice. You went.

"Didn't think I'd get one. I was twenty-five; I had my family. Had a job down at the factory, we had a house… maybe it wasn't fancy, but it was what you had at the time. Went over there and left your mom at home with four kids, and I didn't come home for years. And when I did…" he picked up his drink and took a long sip. "Nothing was the same. _I_ wasn't the same.

"Never had big dreams. Not like Andy, who thinks he can rule the whole world, or your Katherine there. But what I had was enough for me, and I didn't want to go. I've always been grateful that that's something you kids never had to do, and I'm glad you and Andy didn't go that way. War's ugly, Burt. I don't want my kids anywhere near it."

"So I'm doing-"

"You're doing a good job," his father said. "Running that garage? It's a great job, Burt. It's something to be proud of."

It was something Burt had always wanted to hear his father say. That he approved, that he was glad his son had this life, that he was _proud._ Burt smiled. "I am," he agreed. "This… the garage, Katherine and Kurt… this is everything I ever wanted."

His father looked at him, silent. And in the silence, Kurt kept playing the piano.

***

Kurt was obviously enjoying the money he was making from the garage. And Burt had to admit that he enjoyed the time with his son. What he didn't enjoy was what Kurt spent the money on.

It started with a scarf. Just a pale purple scarf that Kurt knotted around his neck one morning with a button down shirt. It was a light material, floaty and extremely feminine. Kurt had an air of deliberate casualness when he came down to breakfast wearing it, like he was daring Burt to say something.

Burt didn't.

A few days later it was a pink shirt, and the shirt had ruffles down the front, like a seventies tuxedo shirt. Two weeks later it was a pair of silver loafers. Each time, the rest of his outfit looked normal; jeans, t-shirts, or sneakers. But the odd pieces stuck out like a sore thumb.

Burt finally broke the silence on the day Kurt dared to combine the loafers and a patterned scarf around his neck. "Kurt, I gotta ask," he said. "What's with all… this?"

Kurt drew himself up. "It's _fashion_ , Dad," he said haughtily. "It's about making a statement. About who you are."

"Yeah? Well, who are you?"

Kurt just shrugged that annoyingly superior shrug, grabbed his bagel, and started for the door, leaving Burt standing in the kitchen.

That was the thing, though, that Burt really wanted to know. Did Kurt know who he was yet? Was he aware of it? Was he fighting himself, trying to deny it? Was he angry, was he accepting, was he proud? Burt wasn't sure he even knew his own son right now.

He kind of thought Kurt might be in the last category. Kurt had stopped hiding his girls' magazines and read them openly in the living room. He put some sort of gunk on his face every night, and as teenage acne hit, he only upped his efforts. (Frankly, Burt could kind of understand the last one, and half considered apologizing to the poor kid for passing down his lousy genes when it came to that.) Even after his voice changed, it still settled in a high register, and the kid pretty much _swished_ when he walked. How could he not know?

"You know," Andy said over the phone one night, "it's always possible he's not gay, Burt. Being gay isn't about clothes or voices or musicals, but about, you know, wanting to sleep with guys. Kurt could be straight."

"You really think that?" Burt demanded.

"No," Andy admitted. "But it's possible."

The funny thing was, Burt didn't hope anymore. Kurt was gay, and that was all there was to it. Kurt was _Kurt_. And after everything the two of them had been through, Burt really okay with that. As long as Kurt was here, as long as he was alive and in Burt's life, Burt could handle it. But _now_ what he was worried about was that as the gay thing became more obvious and kids at school picked upon it, Kurt couldn't handle it. And that was a battle Burt didn't know how to fight.

***

The house was oddly quiet when Burt came home one night in May. It took him a minute to realize what was wrong. There was no piano, no music coming from Kurt's room, no television… nothing. But the lights were on and Kurt's shoes were lined up neatly by the door, and his backpack was in the kitchen.

"Kurt?"

"Down here, Dad."

Burt trudged down the basement steps. The basement had been finished when they moved in, but they'd mainly used it as a storage area. Burt noticed that the couch that had been shoved down there was showing signs of being sat in, and some of Kurt's magazines and a few books were stacked beside it. He had a quick thought of maybe doing more with the basement when he realized that Kurt was in the laundry room.

"What's going on?" he asked, stepping in.

Kurt was wearing his jeans and socks, with both his shirt and scarf missing. Burt assumed that they were in the washer, which was now swishing. Kurt didn't turn around.

"Kurt? You okay?"

"I'm okay." Kurt still wouldn't quite look at him, but he squared his shoulders.

"What happened?"

Kurt took a deep breath. "They took my scarf," he said, anger dripping off each word, "and they dunked it in the toilet. Then they put it back around my neck."

"Was the toilet-"

"Yes."

Burt hadn't finished the question, so Kurt's immediate answer didn't clarify anything. But he had a pretty good suspicion he knew what the truth was, and it made him sick.

"Who did it, Kurt?"

"Does it matter?" Kurt asked bitterly.

"Of course it does!"

Kurt finally looked at him, and when he did, Burt had the impression he thought that his father was a complete dumbass. "If I tell anyone, they'll get punished," he explained, like he was explaining it to a child. "And then as soon as that's over, they'll come right back at me. Only worse." Burt gaped at him, and Kurt sighed. "You know it's true, Dad."

The thing was, Burt _did_ know it was true. He'd seen it plenty of times. Hell, he'd said that some of those punks that his buddies did things to should have kept their mouths shut if they knew what was good for them, because if they got Brad and Tom in trouble then the rest of the team… he closed his mouth with a snap. It _was_ true. He just didn't expect Kurt to know it already.

Which raised a hell of a lot of other questions, when you thought about it.

But Kurt was looking straight ahead. He looked so much like Katherine right now. In fact, the older he got, the more of Katherine Burt saw in him, especially physically. About the only thing of himself Burt saw in his own kid was the stubborn, angry expression on his face.

"Come here," he said suddenly.

"What?" Kurt looked confused.

"Come here," Burt insisted, leading him out of the laundry room and into the basement. "This is really something I should have taught you a long time ago."

"What is?"

"How to throw a punch."

Kurt made a face. "I know how to throw a punch, Dad."

"Good. Then this won't take long. Let's see it."

Kurt made a dubious face and then threw something that… well, it was meant to be a punch. But he broadcast it, there was no power, and his fist…

Yeah. Burt should have taught his kid this a long time ago.

"Okay," he said. "But let's try a little more, okay? Make a fist." Kurt did, and Burt took his hand and rearranged the fingers so the thumb was on the outside. "Always on the outside, okay?" he told him. "Now, all the power comes from your body, not your arm. So don't just fling it, but push it, okay?"

Kurt nodded and tried again. He was trying, Burt could see that in his face, but he just couldn't get it. Patiently, Burt explained it again. And again. And again.

"Better," he said, after fifteen minutes, a lot more frustrated than he'd been when this had started. "But you're still not getting it."

"I'm trying, Dad!"

"I know you are! But you need to get the power from your body and your shoulder, and you need to remember to keep your thumb out, and God damn it, don't let your wrist go so limp!"

Kurt pulled his hand back like he'd been burned.

Burt hadn't meant anything by it- not like that. He'd meant exactly what he said, for Kurt to keep his wrist stiff. But there it was, between them, and he waited. Kurt's eyes were blazing, angry, on fire… and Burt just stood there, waiting.

 _Say something_ , he thought, and he wasn't sure if he was urging himself or Kurt.

Finally, Kurt sniffed. Not upset, but that angry, haughty sniff that Burt was used to. "Thanks for the lessons, _Dad_ ," he said, drawing out the words like they were weapons. "I trust that if I'm ever called to the principal's office for fighting, that I won't get in trouble for just doing what you taught me?"

"Kurt-"

"I'm going to go get a shirt on," Kurt said, head held high as he stalked out of the room. "I'll see you later."

Burt sighed and sat down on the worn couch. Somehow, he had the feeling he'd screwed up big time. He also had the feeling he'd better get used to it.

***

School finally let out for the summer. Kurt was an odd mix of delighted and at odds with himself, not quite sure what to do. Burt was delighted when he got Kurt's final report card in the mail.

"Your mom would have been real proud," he told Kurt, looking at the string of As. "Heck. _I'm_ real proud. I sure didn't make these kinds of grades in school, and in honors classes, no less." Kurt flushed red under the praise, his face lighting up.

The summer stretched before them. Kurt had no interest in playing baseball or soccer, or going to any sort of summer camp, even though Burt offered. He wished there was something he could give the kid to make summer more interesting. Kurt did suggest Paris or New York City, but that wasn't exactly in the finances.

What did happen was Liz turned forty, and her husband hosted a huge party for her. Kurt was less than thrilled about a two hour car journey to an aunt's birthday party, and frankly, Burt agreed with him. But it was family, so he packed the two of them up and they drove the few hours to Chillicothe.

"We really have to be here?" Kurt complained when they smelled the Mead plant.

"Be nice," Burt warned.

Kurt sighed and looked out the window, distinctly pouting.

It was a nice party. It wasn't just the family, but people from Liz's work, from her church, and even a few of her friends from high school. In fact, it sort of reminded Burt of Katherine's funeral, but happier. Even so, it made him comfortable and on edge. And if he was uncomfortable, Kurt was even more so.

None of the cousins were really near Kurt's age. There were some boys there that were, but they'd formed a pick-up game of baseball, and Kurt had absolutely no interest in playing. The adults shooed him out of the kitchen when he tried to help, and when one cousin suggested Kurt keep an eye on the little ones, Liz shot that idea down instantly. So Kurt sat on a low wall, swinging his feet and watching, boredom etched on his face.

Millie came up to him while he was watching Kurt. "How's he doing, Burt?"

Burt shrugged. "Can't complain. He's doing great in school."

Millie snorted. "Wasn't what I was asking."

Burt ignored her.

"Burt, have you ever thought about dating again?" Millie asked. "Maybe if there was a woman around the house, all this… queer shit would sort itself out." He glared at her flatly. Millie just shrugged. "Just calling it like it is, Burt."

"He has a mother. He knew her for seven years."

Mildred's snort was far less delicate this time. "Right."

Burt pushed off the door jamb. "You got something to say about my wife? Or my kid? Because if you do, Mildred, say it now and here. To my face."

"I'm just saying that it's your responsibility to make sure Kurt doesn't grow up like… _that_." She gestured in Kurt's general direction. "And if it means getting a new woman in there, one who can take charge and bring your kid up right, that's what you need to do."

Burt just stared at her. "Get out of here," he told her. "Now."

"Don't get so _touchy_ about it," Mildred said. "Besides, this is Liz's house."

"You're right. It is. Kurt!" Burt called. "Come on! We're leaving!"

Kurt looked over, surprised, but jumped off the wall. "Before the cake?" he asked.

"Before the cake. Let's go, kiddo." Burt grabbed Kurt by the arm and before Kurt could react or squirm away, pulled him into a tight hug. "Go get in the car." Kurt, amazed that his afternoon of torture had come to an earlier end than anticipated, didn't need to be asked twice. Burt turned back to his sister.

"You ever, _ever_ talk that way about my son again, I will… will…" Burt wasn't sure how to end that threat, not because he didn't mean it, but because he was too mad to think. He glared at her one last time and then left, without saying goodbye to anyone.

They drove in silence for a long time, Kurt watching Burt out of the corner of his eyes. He looked scared. Burt knew he should say something, but once again, he had no idea what to say.

"Idiots," was the best he managed.

Kurt nodded silently.

Finally, when they were an hour away, Kurt asked the question. "Dad? Did I do something wrong?"

 _Did I do something wrong?_ Burt glanced at his son. Kurt was sitting with his legs crossed, fingering a pin he'd put on his t-shirt. His hair was styled so firmly that a jet taking off wouldn't blow a strand out of place, and Burt would never admit it, but he could see where Kurt had used something to try to cover up a zit. It was written all over Kurt what he was.

And at the same time, Kurt had offered to help in the kitchen. He'd kept out of the way, he'd spoken politely when others had spoken to him, and he hadn't been making trouble. He hadn't wanted to be there, but he'd done exactly what Burt had asked; he'd been civil.

"No," Burt growled out. "You didn't do a damn thing wrong."

"Okay. Then why did we leave so suddenly? _Something_ upset you."

Burt opened his mouth to answer, and then snapped it shut. They drove for another few miles before Burt spoke again.

"You're a good kid, Kurt. You know that?"

Kurt was looking at him like he was crazy. "Okay…."

"Sorry. It was just…." He broke off.

Kurt looked out the window again. "Dad?"

"What?"

"Why didn't your family like Mom?"

"They say something?" Burt asked.

Kurt shook his head. "Not today, although Grandpa always calls her 'your mother' when he talks to me." The way he said the words made the tone used very clear. "I just assumed that that's what set you off into this state of righteous fury."

Burt nodded tightly. It wasn't completely off the truth. "Your mom," he began slowly, "she wasn't from around here. She saw things differently. Thought that there was a lot around here that needed changing, and wasn’t shy about saying so. My family never took too kindly to that."

"Can I ask you something?" Kurt began tentatively. Burt nodded. "Why did _you_ marry her?"

"Because I loved her."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know it's not. But when you get older, you'll see what I mean."

This was the time. They still had an hour back to Lima, and the radio was off and Kurt was right here, and they could talk about it. The opening was there, the time, the attention… everything. Burt stared at his hands on the steering wheel. The knuckles were turning white.

For a long moment, he thought Kurt might say something. Anything. The tension hanging in the car couldn't just be his imagination. But then Kurt leaned forward and fiddled with the radio knob, and somehow, Burt knew the moment was gone.

***

There was no response from his family after the party. Burt braced himself for a tirade from Liz or a lecture from his father… _something._ But there was only silence. It was like it never happened.

Somehow, that said more than any full-out shouting match would.

***

When Kurt had been born, this had been the part of his life that Burt looked forward to most. Kurt was old enough to talk to now, to have opinions and actually listen to things Burt said. He should have been at the age where he enjoyed sports, maybe started getting interested in girls.

Yeah. Right.

Which was why, when Kurt's thirteenth birthday rolled around, Burt was at a loss. When he'd been thirteen, what he'd wanted more than anything was a dirt bike. He was almost positive that Kurt wouldn't go for that. The idea of going into a store and picking out some clothing gave him hives, and besides, he was pretty sure he'd get it wrong anyway.

"Take him to a show," Andy suggested, when Burt expressed his frustration. "Kurt loves theater."

"Should have thought of that myself," Burt muttered.

"It was Alyssa's suggestion," Andy said. Burt heard the soft ping of Andy starting up his computer. "Any idea which one he'd like to see?"

"You think I know what musicals are playing right now?" Burt asked. "Kurt's never been. I think he'd like just about anything."

"Okay. What would _you_ like, since you're going to take him?"

Burt made a face that he was glad Andy couldn't see. "Nothing too girly."

"Because 'girly' is a rating. I don't know what half of these are either, Burt!" Andy protested. He was silent for a moment. "Riverdance," he finally said.

"What's that about?" Burt asked suspiciously.

"Don't know, but it doesn't matter. It's pretty much the only thing playing that I can find tickets to that don't cost a fortune." A few more muted clicks, and then Andy said, "There you go. You guys are going to Riverdance."

"I'll send you a check," Burt sighed, pretty much wishing they could so anything else.

It was the right idea, though. When Burt presented Kurt with the tickets, he went as wild as if Burt had given him keys to a car. (Well, maybe not that wild, but it was the most excited Burt had seen Kurt be about anything in a long time.) Kurt spent hours fussing over what he was going to wear, and even wheedled extra from Burt to buy a new outfit. Burt _hated_ the mint green coat, bow tie, and skin-tight pants Kurt had chosen, and normally would have said so, but he kept his mouth shut because it was a birthday. Kurt harangued Burt until he agreed to put on a shirt and tie and leave a baseball cap at home, and on their way to the theater, he was literally bouncing in the front seat.

They got there just in time and found their seats. A nicely dressed, rich-looking older couple was seated beside them. The man took one look at Kurt and made a disgusted face. Burt sighed. At least the curtain was coming up and he didn't have to worry.

For something called _Riverdance_ , it really wasn’t that bad, Burt decided as he watched the show. Not what he'd pick himself, but not _that_ bad. But Kurt was watching with stars in his eyes. Burt decided it didn't matter if this was the worst show in the history of the world, it was worth every penny that he'd paid for both of them to see it, just to see Kurt that happy.

During intermission, Kurt struck up a conversation with the older lady sitting next to them. They were enthusiastically discussing something about the costumes and the chordi… chorin… whatever. Burt had no idea. But Kurt obviously did, and as he and the woman talked, he seemed different somehow. A little taller. A little brighter. Burt watched, a wistful smile playing at the edge of his lips. At least until he noticed the steely expression on the woman's husband's face as he watched them as well.

Asshole.

Burt had just worked up the courage to say something when the lights flickered, indicating the show was going to start again. He turned his attention back to the stage, but any joy he had in the performance evaporated as he kept envisioning the look on the man's face. Who was he to say what Kurt should dress like? Who was he to say that Kurt shouldn't be here, just because the kid was gay? Hell, they were in the _theater_. From what Burt heard, this should be like a second home to Kurt. Or at least, people should get it.

When the show was over, Kurt and the woman exchanged a few words of goodbye. She, at least, was smiling at him. Burt was walking up the aisle when someone put a hand on his arm.

"Excuse me." It was the man.

"What is it?" Burt said gruffly.

The man smiled a very thin smile. "I just wanted to let you know how much my wife enjoyed talking to your son during the intermission," he said. "I have to admit, when you sat down next to us, I was dubious. I have had some terrible experiences with teenagers in the theater. Young people these days just don't know how to behave. But your son was an absolute delight. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

Burt just stared at the man blankly for a long moment before his brain finally kicked in. "Thanks," he managed. "Thanks a lot."

After hearing all the things he was doing wrong with Kurt, it was a shock to hear someone say that he was doing it _right_.

***

"Kurt? What the hell is that?"

"What's what?" Kurt asked, looking at his father with an overly innocent expression.

"That," Burt answered, gesturing to Kurt's outfit. It was a long sweater that clung to him, a pair of skin tight pants, high black boots, and a scarf. "What is that?"

Kurt huffed a sigh. "I keep telling you, it's _fashion_ , Dad. Just because no one in Lima doesn't know the meaning of the word doesn't mean I can't educate myself."

"Doesn't look like fashion," Burt said dubiously. "How much did that cost?"

"You can't put a price tag on style," Kurt said, which meant a hell of a lot more than it should. "Besides, I'm in my limit. And there's a little site called eBay."

"Right." Burt rolled his eyes. "You know, people don't dress like that around here."

"I know," Kurt said. He opened the refrigerator door. "Are there still capers?"

"They the little booger looking things?"

"Da-ad."

"They're on the door."

Kurt grabbed them and finished making his bagel, and then picked up his leather bag and tossed it over his shoulder. "I'll see you tonight," he said. "I'll be late."

"You got something going?" Burt asked, surprised and hopeful.

"I'm staying after to use the library to work on a report," Kurt explained. "History."

"Oh." Burt watched him go.

He'd hoped- really hoped- that Kurt would find some group or clique or _something_ and settle in. Ever since Katherine died, there really hadn't been much of anyone. There had been names from school, and Kurt did talk about various people, but he never brought anyone home. That bothered Burt- a lot. The idea that Kurt was that lonely frankly broke his heart.

He looked out the window to see his son walking down the street, the ends of his scarf fluttering jauntily in the breeze. There was a group of teenagers walking on the other side, but none of them even acknowledged Kurt. Burt wondered if this was how it was going to be for Kurt's entire high school life. If it was, the kid was in for a long haul.

***

"Hey, Burt!" Jerry shouted that afternoon.

Burt looked up from the engine. "You got my coffee?" he asked hopefully.

Jerry handed him the cup. "Yeah, but that's not what I wanted to tell you. When I was getting it, I saw your kid walking home. He was crying."

"What?" Burt put the coffee down. "Was he hurt?"

"Didn't look like it. But he was wet. I think he- Burt? Burt?"

Burt was already gone.

***

"Hello? Kurt? You home, buddy?" No answer. Burt moved through the house until he heard the sound of the washing machine. He headed on downstairs.

"Kurt?"

Kurt jerked in surprise. "Dad! I- what are you doing home?"

Jerry was right- Kurt had been crying. His eyes and nose were red. He was completely naked except for a towel that he had wrapped around his waist, but the worst was when Burt got within ten feet of him. Kurt stunk of piss.

"What the hell happened?"

Kurt looked away. "It's nothing I can't handle, Dad."

"Nothing you can't handle? Kurt, what happened?"

Kurt took a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders. "Oh, just some Neanderthal jocks," he said, trying to sound airy, although his shaking voice gave him away. "They decided to descend to juvenile scatological humor and threw water balloons at me."

"Filled with piss," Burt realized. "Go get in the shower. Now. I'll take care of the clothes."

"You need to-"

"I'll put it on delicate, all right? You've done most of it already. I can close a washing machine, Kurt. Go get yourself cleaned up before you get sick." Kurt nodded and headed for the bathroom that was downstairs.

Balloons of piss. Burt's blood began to boil. Who the hell were these fucking jocks that thought that they could do something like this to Kurt? He paced around the basement angrily, his feet moving in time with the swishing of the washing machine. He couldn't hear above the washer and the shower, but he wondered if Kurt was crying in the shower.

He did take a minute to go upstairs and get Kurt some clothes. He had no idea what was supposed to go with what, so he just grabbed a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt and brought them back down. When Kurt emerged from the shower, red skinned and red-eyed, Burt handed him the clothes and sat down on the sofa.

"I'm not getting another punching lesson, am I?" Kurt asked.

"No. Kurt, who did this?"

"Just some upperclassmen," Kurt said. "I don't know names."

"Bullshit, you don't know names."

"I don't," Kurt insisted, but refused to look at Burt.

"How long has this been going on?"

No answer.

"Kurt…"

"Dad, it happens, okay? It's… just… it's nothing."

"It's not nothing! It's-" _gay-bashing_ , he wanted to say, but stopped himself just in time. "Damn it, Kurt! This kind of thing shouldn't be happening!"

"Well, it does," Kurt said dryly. "To believe otherwise is incredibly naïve."

"You know," Burt began. "I know you think different, okay? I know you think this is some backwoods, podunk hick town and you can't wait to be done with it. But it's one thing to be different, and another to be weird. And the way you dress and the way you stand out-"

"So it's my fault?" Kurt said, drawing himself up. "I _asked_ for this?"

"Well, yeah, a bit!" Burt said, completely frustrated. "When you dress like you do, it makes you stick out! And there are consequences!"

Kurt drew back as if he'd been slapped. "And being drenched in urine is an appropriate consequence for whatever imaginary thing it is I might have done?"

"I didn't say-"

"You don't get it, do you, Dad?" Kurt fumed. "I do everything I'm supposed to! I leave everyone alone. I do my work. I don't bother anyone. All I do is dress… _like I do_ ," he sneered. "And that apparently entitles a bunch of steroid-ridden meatheads to pee all over me! Just for existing! You know what? Just leave me alone. I knew it was a mistake to tell you," Kurt said, flinging himself on the couch dramatically. "I just want to be alone." The hurt and hostility radiated off of him, and Burt realized that there was nothing else he could do.

"All right," he said, heading up the stairs. "I'll leave you alone."

***

 _Just for existing_ , Kurt had said. Just for existing and being gay was the truth, but just for existing was close enough. Some kids felt that they could throw balloons filled with piss (and who even _thought_ of that? Burt had just egged houses) at his kid just because Kurt was fucking _gay_. He hadn't done anything, as far Burt knew, and he had no cause to not believe him. Kurt was being targeted for who he was.

But damn it, did he have to make who he was so goddamn obvious? Couldn't the kid see how much easier his life would be if he just didn't dress like that? Act like that? Talk like that?

"I'm going out," Burt yelled down the stairs. Kurt didn't answer.

He decided to walk. It was a nice day out, and he needed to get the anger out somehow. And since punching those assholes in the face wasn't an option, a walk would have to suffice. His feet pounded on the pavement as he wove through town, the mile and a half to the cemetery.

It was a gorgeous cemetery. He knew that. Green and lush, with a lot of trees. They'd buried Katherine near one. Burt hadn't been here in a while- he used to come all the time, but time had a way of wearing at rituals. But he could have found his way to her grave in his sleep.

There were flowers on the grave. Not ones arranged by a florist or those fancy ones that he and Kurt brought every year on Katherine's birthday, but just wildflowers, placed neatly on the headstone and wilting. The sight of them broke Burt's heart, because he knew exactly who had done that.

 _Do you think the dead we loved ever truly leave us?_ It was a line that Burt had read in one of those Harry Potter books Kurt had been so wild about. It ran through his head every now and then, sometimes when he thought of Katherine, sometimes not. He put a hand on the headstone, careful not to disturb the flowers.

"See Kurt's been here," he said quietly. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised." The stone was warm under his hand. "Has he told you yet? What does he say to you when he's here?"

He could imagine Kurt sitting by the grave, knees drawn up, arms around them, head resting on them. Alone. God, he could see it so easily that that picture must be true. "I don't know what to say to him, Katherine," he admitted. "I'm trying. Don't get me wrong. I'm trying real hard, and it's not like it used to be. I get all this now. But I don't know how….

"God, Katherine. I really screwed it up this time. What can I do to make it okay? I don't know what I can tell him to get it through his head I just want the best for him. That I don't want any of this shit ever happening to him again. That I'd do anything to protect him, but he's gotta help me out a little here. I can't… I don't know what more I can do."

There was no answer. He remembered the rest of that quote, about how the dead were there more closely in times of trial or something like that. He got that it wasn't supposed to be literal, but he really wished it could be. It didn't feel like Katherine was here, watching over him and guiding him. In fact, if anything, she felt further away. But Kurt didn't.

Burt reached out and arranged one of the flowers that had fallen out of the bunch, nudging it back to the others. That little bunch of not-yet-withered flowers spoke louder than anything else about this place. And more than anything, it told him he wasn't going to find the answers he needed here.

***

"Kurt."

Kurt looked up from whatever he was doing- filing his nails, it looked like. Burt felt crowded in this little room, and despite the fact Kurt kept it neat, the room _was_ small. "Yes?" Kurt asked.

"Look. I'm sorry about the other day, okay?" Burt took a step in. "You know I didn't mean it like that. I don't want… I don't…."

"It's all right, Dad," Kurt sighed. "I don't want to fight about it anymore. And I get it. I do."

"You do?" Burt asked.

"Yes," Kurt said with a shrug. "Dad, I know that I'm… different. But every time I try to… to fit in, to be like everyone else… it doesn't work. They see through it anyway."

"Huh. Guess I can see that." Burt sat down on Kurt's bed. "Your mom felt that way a lot, too," he said. "She didn't say it much, but I knew it."

"Mmm." Kurt looked back down at his nails.

Burt took a deep breath. "Look. I've been thinking about something, and… this is just an idea, okay? And I don't want you taking this wrong, like you're not welcome up here. But I've been thinking that this room… it's getting too small for you. And there's a lot more room downstairs. I know it's the basement, but you'd have a bathroom right there, and we could finish off part of it for you as a big closet, and you could do the place up however you wanted."

Kurt's interest was piqued. "Really?" he asked cautiously.

"Really. Like I said, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea, that I don't want you up here. But I thought you might just… like a little space where you can really be yourself, you know? Turn your music up, decorate it however you want… a place that's yours." As he spoke, Kurt's eyes grew wider and his smile grew more incredulous. Burt reached for his wallet. "Here's some money," he said, holding it out, "so you can do… whatever you want down there. If you need help- painting or fixing something up or whatever- you let me know."

"Thanks, Dad," Kurt said breathlessly, and the smile was back on his face and there was light in his eyes. He jumped up from the table and hugged Burt fiercely. "Thanks so much."

"You're welcome," Burt said. He stood up. "See you at dinner?"

Kurt nodded. "See you at dinner."

It was worth every penny that this new room was going to cost to see that look on Kurt's face. Burt hadn't realized just how long it had been gone.

***

The school year ended. Burt was glad to see it go. Kurt had never come home drenched in piss again, but Burt was sure that the bullying wasn't over. He couldn't get out of Kurt what was going on, and Kurt made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it. It was hard, but Burt stepped back and gave Kurt his space.

The summer stretched hot and lazy, and mostly business as usual, except the day he came home to find all the lawn furniture nailed to the roof. He called the police, but there was nothing they could do and he had to let it go. But finally the new school year started.

Burt knew something was up the night came home to the smell of red meat. That alone was enough to be suspicious; Kurt _never_ cooked red meat. But when Burt came into the kitchen, Kurt was bent over the oven, taking out two baked potatoes.

"What's all this?"

Kurt looked at him blankly. "It's my night to cook dinner."

"Yeah, but steak and potatoes? That's a far cry from the twigs and leaves you usually have us eat."

"I thought you said that salad is what food eats," Kurt said primly, slipping the potatoes onto two plates. "Are you complaining?"

"No. No, just wondering who you are and what you've done with my son. Or what you've done," Burt suddenly realized. "That's it, isn't it? Did you wreck the car?"

"No," Kurt scoffed, but then took a deep breath. He _had_ done something, Burt realized. Something he didn't think Burt would approve of.

Shit.

Burt disappeared to wash his hands, and when he returned he saw that Kurt had set the table with a few flowers, and also added green beans to their plates. He was sitting at his own seat, unfolding a napkin into his lap. Burt sat down across from him. "So," he began. "How was school?"

"School was…" Kurt took a deep breath. "School was good."

"Yeah?" Burt couldn't remember the last time Kurt had said that. Kurt picked up his silverware, handling it like his steak was about to attack him, and yet with a lot more delicacy than Burt would ever use. "So what happened?"

"I auditioned for glee club," Kurt said proudly. "And I got in."

"Really." Burt was surprised. He'd heard Kurt sing, but more heard him play the piano. "That's good," he said, at a loss for anything more to say.

"It is good," Kurt said, a little defensively. "It's not a very big club, but we're going to be _incredible_." The way he focused on his potato meant he didn't quite believe it yet, but that was okay.

"Well, good," Burt said. He wondered what sort of questions you asked about Glee club. "What songs are you singing? Anything I know?"

"Probably not," Kurt sighed. "They all seem to be from musicals, or written after the eighties."

"Hey. Mellancamp is a classic," Burt pointed out, and that even got a grin. A _grin._ He'd brought down the entire house with that one.

But for some reason, Kurt seemed reluctant to talk any more about glee club. Burt let him change the subject because he didn't know what else to say about it, but he had to admit he was glad to hear that Kurt was getting involved in something.

He just wished it was something he had the first clue as to what it was about.

***

The phone rang, startling Burt. What startled him even more was when he picked it up.

"Hello. Is Kurt there?" a girl asked.

"Just a minute," Burt said, and then because he couldn't resist, he added, "Who's calling?"

"Oh. It's Mercedes, Mr. Hummel. From glee."

"Just a minute." Burt walked down the stairs and passed the phone off to Kurt, who took it and lit up. Even as he heard Kurt apologize for letting his battery on his cell run down, he could hear that Kurt was actually happy this girl had called.

Mercedes. Burt smiled to himself as he walked back up the stairs, listening to Kurt's chatter without hearing the words. For the first time in ages, another kid had called Kurt at home. And from the sounds of it, it wasn't just to ask for the homework assignment.

Burt whistled a little as he climbed the stairs.

***

"Fuck!"

The swear and the slamming of the door startled Burt. "What the hell?" he yelled, coming out of the living room to see Kurt storming in. "What's going on?"

Kurt drew up short. "Dad. You're here."

"Where else would I be? It's four o'clock on a Saturday. How'd your fundraiser thing go? You get the car washed?"

Kurt's face darkened. "Um… it's washed."

"But?"

"But…" Kurt cringed. "There's a problem."

"It's a new car, Kurt. How can there be a problem?" Burt asked. He pushed past Kurt and headed for the garage. "What did you do to it?"

"I didn't do…" Kurt began, and then trailed off because Burt saw the car. The car, and the big gaping hole in the windshield.

"What the hell happened?"

Kurt tried to look casual. "Someone threw a rock through the windshield."

"I see that. What I don't see is how they did it when you were there the whole time." Kurt looked away, but Burt grabbed him by his shoulders. "No. Not this time, Kurt," he said. "You're telling me who did this. After the balloons and the lawn furniture, and all the other shit I know probably happens but you don't tell me about… whoever did this is going down. We can get the police in on this."

Kurt paled. "No. Dad, please… no. Not the police."

"Kurt, you can't just let them push you around like this!" Burt shouted. "Have some pride!"

"It's not-"

"It is! For God's sake, kid, tell me!"

"I don't know who did it, Dad!"

"If you don't tell me, you can forget driving the car again."

Kurt hesitated, took a deep breath, and pulled himself up. "I don't know who threw the rock, Dad."

"Okay, kiddo. Car's gone."

"Fine."

"Fine." Burt started back toward the house, and then stopped and turn around and faced Kurt. "You know what I don't get?" he said. "I don't get why you're protecting them. Whoever's doing this stuff to you, you know who they are. They deserve whatever they've got coming to them."

"Not this time," Kurt said. When Burt raised an eyebrow, he amended it hastily. "I mean, it might be different people each time."

"Right." Burt stormed in.

He argued it intermittently through the night with Kurt, but Kurt stuck to his story. He didn't know who'd thrown the rock. He looked scared, like he was hiding something. Burt wanted to shout that he knew, he _knew_ what Kurt was hiding. Kurt was almost sixteen- he _had_ to know by now. But Kurt just stubbornly insisted the same thing over and over.

It hurt, Burt realized late that night. It hurt like hell that his own kid couldn't tell him the truth. And he had no idea how to convince Kurt that whatever the truth was, he could handle it. That _they_ could handle it. Together.

***

There were kids coming into the house now. Not just Mercedes, whom Burt liked very much, but other girls, too. (Always girls, Burt noticed, but after such a long drought of loneliness for Kurt, he didn't give a fuck.) He was surprised one day to come home to find Kurt dancing in the basement with two girls. Which was great, although Burt _really_ could have done without the blaring music. He snapped it off, and Kurt jerked around.

"Dad... You're home early."

"Deadliest Catch is on," Burt informed him. He looked closer at Kurt. It was another wacky outfit that Burt couldn't make heads or tails of. "What are you wearing?"

"It's a unitard," Kurt explained. "A lot of guys wear them nowadays to do sports. They wick sweat from the body."

"Football," one of the girls offered.

Kurt nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, all the guys in football wear them. They're jock-chic."

Burt didn't know what the hell jock-chic was. It was obvious Kurt was embarrassed, although Burt wasn't sure if it was just an "oh, no, my friends will know I have a _parent_ " thing or something more. But then one of the girls said something that nearly knocked him over.

"Kurt's on the football team now."

"He's the kicker," the other girl jumped in. "That's the smallest guy on the field, right?"

And to his shock, Kurt nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, Brit and Tina were just helping me with some conditioning work."

Kurt. And football. Burt blinked for a moment, completely disbelieving. "Hmm. Really?" They all nodded. "You know, I played in JC, before I busted up my knee popping wheelies on my dirt bike," he heard himself saying.

Kurt nodded. "Cool," he said, in a voice that indicated it was anything but. "I guess we'll have something to talk about, then."

Something felt so off about it. Kurt and _football_. It didn't add up. _Why can't you just be honest with me?_ he wanted to shout. But if Kurt was going to give him this runaround- or if Kurt _needed_ to give him this runaround- Burt would play along. "So one of you two his girlfriend?" he asked, pointing to the two girls.

Kurt looked from one to the other and then wrapped his arm around the brunette. "Yes," he said, with a fake smile, and then smacked her bottom. "But I'm not ready to be exclusive just yet."

 _Right._ It occurred to him that maybe Kurt _would_ try dating girls, just to see. But this didn't even have the tone of that. Burt knew his son, and he knew when he was lying.

He also knew when to back off, and this was one of those times. "All right, just keep the music down," he ordered as he retreated. "I can't hear myself think up there." He headed for the stairs and them stopped. "Hey, Kurt? Be sure to get me a ticket to your first game."

He didn't miss how scared Kurt looked when he said that.

***

"So," he asked a week later at dinner. "How's football practice?"

Kurt swallowed the bite he'd just taken. "Oh, great," he said airily. "It's… great."

"Don't know much about kicking," Burt said. The kickers had never really been a "real" part of the team when he'd played, but he didn't tell Kurt that. "What kind of stuff do they have you doing?"

"Oh, a lot of flexibility and balance work," Kurt said. "And laps."

"Good." Burt nodded. And then wasn't sure what else to say. "I used to play tight end," he offered. Kurt blinked at him. "We… did a lot of passing. Playwork. Stuff like that. Your coach do much with the bootleg play at all?"

"I don't think he lets us drink, Dad."

It took Burt a second to get that one. "That's not what a bootleg play is, Kurt. It's where the quarterback runs with the ball behind the line of scrimmage. It's a defensive move."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Burt hesitated. "You want me to explain it to you more?" He leaned forward, liking the idea. "I could take you through the basics, give you some ideas of the plays."

But Kurt drew himself up. "No, I've got it, Dad," he said. "I'm on the team, remember? It's _football_. I think I've got it."

"If you want help-"

"I've got it!" Kurt insisted.

"All right, all right. I was just offering." They subsided into silence again, with only the clink of silverware on plates between them.

"So," Burt tried again, when Kurt didn't talk. "How's things with the girl. What's her name again, Tina?"

"Tina," Kurt mumbled. He took a deep breath. "Ah, we… broke up."

"Sorry to hear that."

Kurt waved a hand. "It wasn't serious anyway. We hadn't been together that long."

"Right." Burt swallowed. "Kurt…"

"Yes, Dad?"

 _He'd talk about it. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Don't push._ Burt sighed. "Pass the salt, will ya?"

The subsided into silence once again.

***

"So what's up with Kurt?" his father asked him when Burt stopped by his house, two tickets in hand.

"You're not gonna believe it, even if I tell you," Burt said.

His father looked up, intrigued. "What is it?"

"Kurt's on the football team."

His father's mouth gaped open. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Dead serious."

"Wow." His father sat down. "Huh. Wow."

"Yeah. You want to come to the first game with me?"

"Nah. That should be a father-son moment or something," his father said, with an expression that meant something else was going on. Burt realized it.

"Kurt's never going to be good enough for you, is he?" he asked slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"It's like Andy. He's not like us. He… went off the map, I guess. Doesn't fit in around here. And nothing Andy ever does is good enough, because it's not two kids and a house and a regular job. And Kurt… Kurt's even worse."

"Look, Burt." His father sat down at the table and gestured for Burt to sit. Burt didn't. "You've gotta understand… I just don't _get_ this."

"What's to get? He's your grandson!"

"I don't know, any of it! I don't know how to talk to the kid, I don't know what he's about… he's my grandson, but I just don't get him, okay? He's a stranger to me."

"Dad-"

"Look. I can treat him like the others, mostly. And I'm not gonna say anything to him. You know that, right? But I just… I just don't think we're ever going to be close."

"Only because you won't try."

His dad looked up at him, his eyes serious. "And you? You're close to him?"

"I try," Burt said. "And nothing- _nothing_ he does is ever going to stop me from trying."

"Well, God bless you, kid, because that's more than I could ever do." His father flicked off a sarcastic little salute. "You gonna storm out of here now like you did to Millie?"

He should. He could _see_ Katherine telling him to, urging him on. But the fact remained that this was his _father_. He could cut out his sisters if he had to, but his father? Burt winced, and then shook his head.

"No," he said finally. "But I'm gonna tell you not to talk that way about Kurt ever again, you got that? I know he's queer, but he's _my kid_ , and that counts for a hell of a lot. If you can't deal with it, keep your mouth shut about it."

It wasn't that he feared retribution; his father was an old man. But he was his _Dad_ , and once the words were out of his mouth, Burt couldn't take them back. He stood waiting for his father's reaction, feeling like they were teetering on the edge of a precipice.

His father finally nodded tightly. "Enjoy the game," he said. "But I'm going to sit this one out."

"Fine. I'll see you later. I've got to get to get to the game." Burt left the house, barely restraining himself from slamming the door.

 _One more chance,_ he told himself. _He's my dad. He deserves one more chance._

***

He was late to the game, and he missed the kick-off. He cursed silently to himself as he climbed into the bleachers. But Kurt caught sight of him. "Dad!" he yelled, jumping up and down. "Dad!" He was pointing proudly to his uniform, far too excited. Burt was torn between joy at actually be acknowledged in public by his teenager, and wishing Kurt would tone it down a bit. He slipped into his seat.

Seeing Kurt among all the football players brought a lump to his throat. He knew Kurt was small and skinny for his age, but he'd never realized just how small and skinny until he saw him against the backdrop of these other kids.

And yet, tiny or not, the kid could _kick_. Burt had figured he must be decent, because they didn't let just anyone walk onto a football team, especially varsity, but he stared in amazement when the ball sailed. And it didn't just go far- it went straight, too. And when Kurt kicked a point that won the game for McKinley, Burt was on his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs.

At that moment, when Kurt smiled, when Kurt was victorious… the entire world was _right_.

***

Bur was on cloud nine on the way home, wanting to relive the game. Kurt even let him, still flushed with excitement and indulgent enough that he even agreed when Burt suggested they stop for ice cream. They sat on the hood of the truck and ate it under the parking lot streetlights, replaying that last kick over and over. But Burt did most of the talking. As they approached home, Kurt grew quieter and quieter.

He disappeared downstairs to his bedroom as soon as they got home. As he did, the joy in the game drained a little from Burt. No, it drained a lot.

It wasn't that Kurt was playing football. Burt had gotten used to the idea of Kurt never being into things like that. It was that, for once, he thought that they'd have something in common. Something that they could both get excited about. But Kurt _wasn't_ excited. Not really. Whatever he was doing this for, it wasn't because he loved the game. Burt wished he understood it.

He headed down the stairs. Kurt was sitting at his dressing table, spraying something on his face. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Burt raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Nighttime skin care is a big part of my postgame ritual," Kurt said defensively.

"I don't know what to say about that, but, uh... I was really proud of you tonight, Kurt," Burt said. "I wish your mom would have been there. I mean, alive." It wasn't much, but it was something.

"Thanks," Kurt said stiffly. Burt nodded and turned to leave. But Kurt stopped him. "Dad. I have something that I want to say." Burt stopped and waited. "I'm glad that you're proud of me. But I don't want to lie anymore. Being a part of the Glee Club and football has really shown me that I can be anything, and what I am, is…"

Everything stopped, and the world held its breath. Or, at least, Burt held his.

"I'm gay," Kurt said.

And he could breathe again. "I know."

Kurt looked surprised. "Really?"

"I've known since you were three. All you wanted for your birthday was a pair of sensible heels." Kurt made a face at that, but it was true. But these were the words Burt had been waiting to say. "I guess I'm not totally in love with the idea, but, if that's who you are, there's nothing I can do about it. And I love you just as much. Ok?"

He reached out and pulled Kurt into his arms. Kurt was shaking against him, and Burt knew he was crying. He wanted to tell him it going to be okay now, that it was over. They could deal with this together. But those weren't the words Kurt wanted to hear right now. He pulled back. "Thanks for telling me, Kurt."

Kurt smiled and headed back to his dressing table. He knew Kurt, knew that he needed that space right now. That signal couldn't have been any clearer if Kurt used those flags at the airport. But as he left, he couldn't resist stopping and asking.

"You're sure, right?"

"Yeah Dad, I'm sure."

"I'm just checking."

But as he headed up the stairs, he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

***

"Andy?"

"Why are you calling me at ten o'clock at night?" Andy grumbled. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Everything's fine." Burt took a deep breath. "Kurt told me."

"What?" Andy sounded fuzzy, and then Burt heard his breath catch. "Wait, he told you?"

"He told me." Burt found himself grinning. "He came out."

"That's…."

"It's great, Andy," Burt said. "I mean, like I told him, I can't say I'm in love with the idea. But he is who he is, and he's finally ready to tell me who that is. Everything's on the table now, and he can stop hiding from me."

"What about the rest of the world?" Andy asked. "I don't mean to be so negative, but this is only the beginning. If Kurt's really out- and in _Lima_ of all places- it's going to get worse. A lot worse. You _know_ that."

"I know it. But my kid's got guts, Andy."

"He does."

"Takes after his Mom." Silence. "What? You don't agree?"

"Nothing at all against Katherine, but I don't think it's her he's taking after," Andy said.

"She's the one that would have been able to change the world for him," Burt said.

"And you're the one who already did."

Burt laughed. "Me? Andy, I'm not a crusader. I can't talk at people and give speeches and make them change their minds. All I can do is beat the shit out of anyone who threatens my kid. I can't change the world."

"Burt, I know Lima," Andy said carefully. "And I know you. I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"When Katherine left you, she called me."

"What?" Burt sat down. "You know about that? When did you-?"

"That night," Andy confessed. "She said she didn't know who else to turn to, and she wanted to come out to Philly. Said that she wanted to be someplace that, if you ever got your act together, you could find her. She wanted there to always be a chance for you and Kurt. But I guess what she did shook you up enough that you came to your senses."

"It did," Burt said. "But it wasn't that easy."

"I know. But you went from a guy who let his wife and kid leave because you didn't want a gay son to a guy who's called me happy because his son finally came out. _You_ did that, Burt. And you're Kurt's dad. So maybe you can't change everyone, but for Kurt? Yeah. You changed the world."

It was an overwhelming thought. Burt didn't know if he agreed with it, but it was overwhelming. Andy heard it and switched the subject, and they talked for a little more about Kurt's football game and Mandy's daycare and Andy's job. Finally, they said goodnight, and Burt replaced the phone.

The house was dark and quiet. He didn't mind, though. For once, it felt like there was an air of peace flowing through, and he felt connected to the boy downstairs.

He opened the door and crept quietly downstairs, not sure if Kurt was awake or not. He wasn't; he was asleep on his back, one hand up by his face, the way he'd been sleeping since he was a baby. He was in pajamas, and his hair was still damp from a shower and didn't have any of that stuff in it. A _Vogue_ was draped face down over his chest, and the light by his bed was still on. Burt took the magazine off and laid it quietly on the nightstand, and then brushed the stray hair off Kurt's forehead. Kurt stirred, but he didn't wake up.

"Don't know if you remember," he said softly, "but when you were six, I promised I'd be your prince. And even though you're sixteen now, I'm gonna keep that promise. You got that? Whatever I can do to keep you safe, to make you happy… that's what I'm going to do. No matter what it takes."

He leaned forward and kissed Kurt's forehead. With a final touch to his son's hair, he turned off the bedside light and headed up the stairs.


End file.
